I 


ULKIC;  OE,  THE  VOICES. 


ULRIC; 


OR, 


THE      VOICES 


» 


T.     Sf   FAY. 


NEW-YORK: 
I).    APPLETON    &    CO.,    200    BROADWAY 

M.DCCCLl. 


ENTKRKD,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

D.  APPLETON  &  CO., 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New-York. 


HIS    SISTEE, 
Carjoltn*    Braum* 

[AS   A  MARK   OP 

SINCERE      AFFECTION, 
THIS  VOLUME  IS  INSCRIBED 


BY 


THE    AUTHOR 


BERLIN,      CHRISTMAS      EVE,      1850. 


M167380 


ULRIC;   OR  THE  VOICES. 


CANTO    I. 

"  'TWAS  fifteen  hundred  years  ago : 
How  strangely  swift  the  ages  flow  ! 
"With  all  their  passion  and  their  roar, 
Like  billows  breaking  on  the  shore  ! 
And  we,  who  watch  and  muse,  forget 
The  wide,  wild  tide  is  foaming  yet, 
And  bears  us  onward  and  away, 
Like  bubbles  of  the  bursting  spray, 
Or  clouds  that  melted  yesterday. 

"'Twas  fifteen  hundred  years  ago, 
When  ope'd  the  rocky  tomb  —  and  lo  ! 


ULRIC ;    OE,  THE  VOICES. 

He  —  the  rejected  and  the  slain  — 
Walked,  calm  and  free,  the  earth  again. 
The  very  grave  its  dead  hath  given ; 
Its  Lord,  the  very  throne  of  heaven ; 
Yet,  as  before,  man's  life,  misspent, 
Calls  from  the  earth  for  punishment ; 
Still,  mocking  the  Omnipotent, 

He  scorns  the  proffered  prize, 

A  sinner  and  an  infidel, 

Each  day  his  birthright  doth  he  sell, 

Seeks,  still  forewarned,  the  fowler's  spell, 

And  takes  the  very  path  to  Hell, 
With  open  eyes!" 

Where,  slowly  flowing,  winds  its  way, 
By  wood  and  plain,  the  modest  Spree, 
And  bathes  the  castle  and  the  wall 
Of  Brandenbourg's  old  capital, 
What  time  the  elector's  princely  hand 
With  the  new  faith  had  filled  the  land, 
And  every  priest  and  every  dome, 
With  solemn  pomp,  had  drawn  from  Rome,- 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Thus  mused  the  soldier — not  alone 
One  whom  his  sovereign  well  might  own ; 
For  earthly  glory,  too,  had  shone 
Round  his  victorious  sword  ! 
But  soldier  of  the  cross — to  fight 
Against  the  dark  ones  of  sin's  night, 

And  put  Hell's  treacherous  chief  to  flight, 

^ 
With  Christ's  almighty  word. 

And  now,  to  old  St.  Nicholai, 

The  enlightened  crowds  around  him  hie, 

Where  Luther  to  the  pulpit  came, 

Kindling  again  the  ancient  flame, 

In  streams  as  broad  as  that  of  yore 

On  Palestina's  holy  shore, 

Where  Mede  and  Elamite  and  Crete 

Did,  in  one  common  centre,  meet 

On  Pentecost,  at  Peter's  feet. 

Amid  the  throng,  in  thoughtful  mood, 
The  young  Rittmeister  silent  stood, 
And.  with  attentive  ear, 
I* 


10  ULKIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Against  a  column's  lofty  base, 
With  folded  arms  and  motionless, 

Leaned,  each  calm  truth  to  hear. 
St.  Paul !  it  was  a  sight  to  see. 
Of  Christ  so  firm  a  votary ; 
Though  his  rich  garb  and  noble  mien, 
Spoke  one  not  strange  to  joy  terrene, 
But  formed  to  tread  each  brilliant  scene 

Of  passion  and  of  pride  ; 
And  formed  to  be  a  welcome  guest, 
Among  the  highest  and  the  best, 
That  seek,  alas  !  in  vain,  their  rest 

On  pleasure's  sparkling  tide. 
A  child  of  fortune  and  of  fame, 
Ulric  von  Rosenberg  his  name, 

And  he  the  favored  heir 
Of  many  a  rood  of  fertile  land, 
And  many  a  vassal's  faithful  hand, 
And  many  a  castle,  strong  and  grand, 

And  park  and  garden  fair. 
And  at  the  marked  and  earnest  grace, 
And  the  calm  beauty  of  his  face, 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  11 

More  than  one  heart,  in  vain, 
That  strove  from  earthly  thoughts  to  rise, 
Caught  by  those  dark,  expressive  eyes, 
Forgot  its  own  immortal  weal, 
And  Heav'n  itself,  sometimes,  to  steal 

A  secret  look  again. 

And  now  the  simple  rites  conclude ; 
And  now  the  pious  multitude 

Homeward  their  footsteps  bent ; 
All  save  the  holier,  chosen  few. 
Who  lingered,  when  the  rest  withdrew, 

To  take  the  sacrament. 

And  who  shall  tell  what  Ulric  felt, 
When  at  the  altar  low  he  knelt, 

In  deep  repentant  prayer ; 
And  took  the  bread — and  took  the  wine, 
In  worship  sad,  as  sacred  sign, 
And  thought  he  saw  a  glory  shine, 
As  if  in  person  his  divine 

Redeemer  had  been  there. 


12  ULRIC ;   OE,  THE  VOICES. 

And  hark  !  a  voice  !  "  Ulric  !"  it  said, 
"  Follow  my  footsteps  undismayed ; 
Of  earth— of  Hell,  be  not  afraid  ; 

Let  sin — let  sorrow  cease. 
Believe,  and  to  your  faith  be  true, 
Your  heart  I  strengthen  and  renew. 
These  words  I  've  spoken  unto  you, 

That  you  may  know  my  peace. 
And  what  you  ask,  sincere,  from  Heaven, 
And  in  my  name,  it  shall  be  given. 
It  shall  be  given,  although  it  be 
Mountains  to  cast  into  the  sea." 

He  rose,  when,  'gainst  a  column  leaning, 
His  lighted  features  full  of  meaning, 
With  folded  arms  upon  his  breast, 
And  scornful  smile  but  ill  suppressed, 
He  saw  his  deadliest  enemy, 
Steinfort,  who  came  the  rite  to  see, 
In  insult  and  in  mockery  ! 
Steinfort,  his  cousin,  and  co-heir 
To  his  old  uncle's  fortune  fair. 


ULEIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  13 

But  Ulric,  wrapped  in  holy  trance, 
Scarce  gave  his  foe  a  passing  glance. 
Sublimer  things  employed  his  thought. 
And  when  he  turned  and  left  the  spot, 
It  was  as  he  had  seen  him  not  ; 
Or,  with  a  pulse  unstirred  and  even, 
Had  seen,  had  pitied,  and  forgiven. 

And  now  with  thoughtful  step  and  slow, 
Alone  did  Ulric  homeward  go, 
And  pondered  deep  and  pondered  long, 
On  his  past  life — so  blind — so  wrong. 
On  many  a  deed,  of  import  slight 
To  those  who  grope  in  reason's  light, 
But  to  the  few  who  see  aright, 
As  poison  foul,  and  black  as  night. 
And  inly  prayed  that  God  would  bless 
His  sacrifice  of  righteousness  ! 
Keep  him  from  leprous  sin  apart, 
And  write  His  laws  upon  his  heart. 
And  so  he  reached  the  palace  gate, 
His  home  of  almost  royal  state. 


ULR1C;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

'Twas  noon — and  at  the  end  of  May ; 
And  thus  another  well-spent  day 

Was  fleeting  sinless  by  : 
And,  full  of  holy  quiet,  at 
An  open  casement  now  he  sat, 

Lost  in  a  reverie. 
And  as  he  careless  gazed  around 
Upon  the  garden's  beauteous  ground, 
And  let  his  eyes  unconscious  rove 
Through  each  wild  path  and  stately  grove. 
And  thought  how  wondrous  fair  and  bright 
They  glittered  in  the  warm  sunlight ; 
And  as  the  luscious  perfume  blew, 
In  grateful  clouds,  the  window  through, 
He  felt  come  over  him  a  change — 
He  knew  not  what — but  passing  strange. 

"  These  waving  woods — this  palace  fair — 
Castle  and  town— and  vintage  rare—" 
Thus  ran  his  thought :  "  and  I  am  heir  ! 

A  pretty  thing  to  own  ! 
My  uncle  hath  a  lusty  health — 


ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  15 

Mine  were,  in  faith,  a  noble  wealth — 

Were  he  but  gone  ! 

Black  wish  !  and  whither  would  it  drive  me  ? 
God  grant  the  old  man  may  survive  me !" 

With  quicker  breath  he  leaned  to  bare 

His  forehead  to  the  cooling  air, 

And  quicker  flowed  his  troubled  thought. 

"  And  if  these  pious  dreams  be  nought ! 
Of  lazy  priests,  the  canting  lie — 
A  fable  for  the  nursery  ! 
Oh,  Heaven  forgive  !  thy  light  restore  me  ! 
What  chilling  shadow  hath  come  o'er  me  ?" 

He  knew  not  what  his  spirit  swayed, 
So  darkly  on  his  fancy  weighed — 
His  feeling  soiled — his  soul  betrayed, 

And  down  from  Heaven  drew ; 
But  He — the  Dark  One — Prince  of  Sin  ! 
Who  sudden  stood  the  room  within, 
And  round  him  breathed  his  vapor  thin 


16  ULRIC  ;    OK,  THE  VOICES. 

Of  fleshly  lust — He  knew. 
He  saw  bis  wily  arts  o'erthrown, 
Saw  from  his  toils  a  victim  flown, 
But  ever  claimed  him  for  his  own  ; 
Had  marked,  in  many  a  year  by-gone, 

Th'  aspiring  Christian  well ! 
And  all  the  day,  upon  his  track, 
Had  watched,  resolved  to  bring  him  back, 

Into  the  path  of  Hell. 
And  now,  unseen  and  still,  did  glide 
Close  to  the  youth's  unconscious  side, 

And  through  each  vain  disguise, 
With  cruel  hate  and  devilish  art, 
peep — deep  into  his  victim's  heart, 

Did  pierce  his  fearful  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Holy  Cross  !  what  have  we  here  ? 
A  precious  mixture,  deep  and  clear ! 
And  heavenward  soars  our  cavalier  ! 

Must  earth  and  sin  forget ! 
Hell  hath  no  charm  for  such  a  heart ! 
Faith  shields  it  from  the  tempter's  dart : 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  IT 

Oh !  ho  ! — ha !  ha  !  I  think  we  part, 
My  pious  saint,  not  yet !" 

But  hark  !  what  blended,  rapid  sound 
Through  all  the  palace  spreads  around  ? 
And  now,  a  bell  convulsive  rings, 
And  now  the  door  wide  open  swings, 
And  a  pale,  stammering  servant  brings, 

With  swift,  fear-quickened  tread, 
The  stunning,  wild  intelligence — 
"  Your  uncle,  sir,  His  Excellence, 
Who  but  an  hour  ago,  from  hence, 
To  ride  went  forth — is  dead." 

He  clasped  his  hands  with  'wildered  start ; 
What  strong  emotion,  through  his  heart, 

Swift  streamed  without  alloy  ! 
Say,  was  it  love  ?  or  blind  surprise  ? 
Or  grief,  that  filled  his  flashing  eyes  ?  \ 
No  !  it  was  what,  who  grasps  a  prize, 
Feels  in  his  breast  resistless  rise — 

'Twas  triumph !  it  was  joy. 


IB  ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

"  Away,"  he  said.     The  man  withdrew. 
But  then,  remorse  his  bosom  through 

Pierced  quick,  and  mingled  shame. 
He  thrust  the  bolt  across  the  door — 
He  knelt  him  down  upon  the  floor, 

And  in  that  holy  name, 
Prayed,  with  a  deep  sincerity, 
From  such  foul  sin  his  soul  to  free, 
And  bid  himself  in  torture  die, 
Or  bid,  of  woe  and  beggary, 

To  drink  the  chalice  full — 
Rather  than,  all  beneath  the  sky. 
Of  splendor,  at  the  price,  to  buy, 

Of  his  immortal  soul ! 

And  from  his  knees  he  scarce  arose, 
When  once  again  a  rapid  buzz 
Of  mingling  voices  strikes  his  ear, 
And  forth  he  went  the  news  to  hear. 
When  lo  !  again  the  messenger  ! 
Yet  now,  in  truth,  not  pale  with  fear, 
But  wreathed  with  smiles  his  lips  to  tell 


ULRIC ;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  19 

The  accident  as  it  befell. 
His  Excellency  back  had  come  ; 
Alive  and  well  had  reached  his  home. 
Report  had  named  him  for  the  groom, 
Who,  in  a  sudden  fit,  had  died. 
While  riding  by  his  master's  side. 

And  oh  !  if  from  a  human  heart 
All  self  were  ever  thrust  apart, 
If  ever  joy  and  candor  spoke 
In  words  from  human  lips  that  broke ; 
If  ever  rose  a  prayer  sincere, 
And  fit  for  Heav'n's  approving  ear, 
It  rose  from  Ulric,  when  he  pressed 
His  aged  uncle  to  his  breast. 

But  from  his  breast  the  rising  prayer, 
Cut  sudden  short,  dispersed  in  air, 
And,  for  the  peace  that  o'er  him  streamed, 
Now  rose  revenge,  and  fury  gleamed  ; 
For  scornful  Steinfort,  passing  by, 
Low  whispering,  waited  not  reply  : 


20  ULKIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

"  In  faith,  Count  Ulric.  thou  wast  nigh 
The  master  and  the  lord  to  be 
Of  many  a  noble  seigneurie  ! 
But  lo  !  again  thy  uncle's  face  ! 
Ha  !  ha !  enjoy  thy  glad  embrace  !" 

"  What  mutters  Steinfort  ?" 

"  All  men  know. 

Dear  uncle,  him  my  constant  foe. 
And  only  thy  supreme  command 
Shields  him  from  my  indignant  hand. 
I  know  not  why  it  is  my  fate 
To  suffer  his  audacious  hate. 
His  haughty  look,  his  rancorous  tongue, 
Pursue  my  footsteps  all  day  long ; 
And  yet  I  never  did  him  wrong." 

"  Tush  !  he  is  good.     Too  quick  art  thou  ; 
Such  quarrel,  for  my  sake,  forego. 
Obey  !  for  I  will  have  it  so  !" 

"  Well !  well !  dear  uncle,  I  will  try, 
If  love  hath  any  sorcery, 
To  save  me  from  his  evil  eye !" 


ULRIC;    OB,  THE   VOICES.  21 


CANTO    II. 

WITH  heart  disturbed  and  forehead  hot, 
Forth  Ulric  went,  alone,  and  sought 

The  garden's  grateful  shade  ; 
A  spot  with  massive  walls  surrounded, 
And  from  the  outward  city  bounded, 
Where  thicket  wild  and  tangled  wood, 
All  silence  and  all  solitude, 

A  Paradise  had  made ; 
As  calm,  as  if  the  verdant  sod 
By  human  feet  had  ne'er  been  trod  ; 
As  silent,  as  its  ground  might  be 
Some  lonely  island  in  the  sea. 
So  well  did  art  the  charm  express 
Of  nature  and  her  loveliness; 
And  there  the  head  with  thinking  tired, 


22  ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES. 

And  there  the  heart  with  passion  fired, 

Found  strange  relief  to  rest, 
Or  soft  delight  alone  to  rove 
Through  sylvan  glade,  and  shadowy  grove, 
That  knew  its  better  springs  to  move, 
And  charm  to  peace,  and  touch  with  love 

The  hot  and  angry  breast. 

"What!  Mahmoud!  What!  Come!  Sirrah!  Come!" 
Unloosed  the  leash  the  obedient  groom  ; 
His  favorite  dog,  in  frolic  mood, 
With  love  inspired  and  gratitude, 
Flew  to  his  side  with  bounding  feet. 
Frantic  his  glad  caress  to  meet. 
Not  his  the  wily  courtier's  grace  : 
His  buoyant  joy — his  rough  embrace, 
The  master's  costly  dress  deface. 

Small  heed  gives  he,  but  leans  to  feel 
The  soothing  sweetness  through  him  steal, 
Which,  who  on  earth  hath  never  proved, 
In  loving,  when  in  turn  beloved  ? 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  23 

Aye,  though  the  dear  conviction  rise 
E'en  from  the  poor  dog's  gentle  eyes  ! 

"  Come,  Mahmoud,  come  !  Old  honest  boy • 
Thine  is  no  false  or  fickle  joy ; 
Thy  virtues  all  that  men  possess — 
Not  theirs  thy  pure  unselfishness. 
In  thee,  thy  love  were  all  as  sweet, 
Couched  at  the  shepherd's  humble  feet, 
Sharing  the  peasant's  frugal  bread, 
Or  by  the  sightless  beggar  led. 
Thy  heart,  alone  affectionate, 
E'en  in  the  palace  of  the  great, 
Ne'er  beats  with  envy  or  with  hate. 
Good,  good  old  Mahmoud  !    Well  I  may 
Conjecture  all  thy  tongue  would  say, 
Couldst  thou  but  answer.     Well  I  know, 
Should  strike  me  e'er  contempt  and  woe, 
Of  every  servant — aye,  and  friend, 
That  on  my  pride  and  fortune  tend, 
Not  one  would  share,  with  love  like  thine, 
All  fate,  no  matter  what,  if  mine. 


24  ULEIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

For  where,  beneatli  the  bending  sky, 
Found  ever  man  fidelity? 
Content  through  life  all  pangs  to  brave, 
And  starve  at  last  upon  the  grave, 
More  deeply  felt,  more  clear  expressed, 
Than  warms  the  dog's  devoted  breast." 

He  said,  when,  sudden,  Steinfort  stood 
Close  at  his  side,  in  angry  mood  ; 
Though  none  might  tell  or  whence  or  why 
That  brow  of  cloud— that  flashing  eye. 
The  dog,  in  gambols  circling  round, 
Leaped  to  his  hand  with  sportive  bound. 
"St.  Johann  curse  the  mongrel  hound  ! 
What,  is  he  mad?"  and,  with  the  word, 
Swept  through  the  air  his  glittering  sword— 
A  growl  of  wrath — a  yell  of  pain — 
Poor  Mahmoud  ne'er  will  leap  again  ! 

And  swifter  gleamed  the  fury  now 
Through  Ulric's  breast  and  o'er  his  brow, 
Than  e'er  from  Heaven  the  lightning  broke, 


ULEIC;   OK,  THE   VOICES.  25 

And  struck  to  flame  the  quivering  oak. 
"Steinfort,  enough  !  I  bear  it  not ! 
We  try  our  quarrel  on  the  spot. 
Thou  art  a  villain  !" 

"  To  such  word." 

Said  Steinfort,  "  answer  thou,  my  sword  ! 
And,  by  St.  Matthew  !  ere  I  dine, 
The  dog's  base  blood  shall  mix  with  thine." 

They  fought,  but  soon  the  faithless  brand 

Shivered  in  Steinfort's  furious  hand. 

A  moment  more,  and  his  life  blood 

Had  drenched  the  verdure  where  he  stood, 

When  Ulric  paused,  a  voice  to  hear — 

As  music  sweet,  as  morning  clear, 

That  fell  from  Heaven  upon  his  ear : 

"  Ulric,  forbear  !     Thy  wrath  restrain  ! 
Put  up  thy  sword  without  a  stain  ! 
Thy  master  speaks.     His  will  obey  ! 
Evil,  the  wicked  man  shall  slay  ! 
I  bid  thee,  in  the  name  of  Heaven  ! 
Forgive  !  as  thou  wouldst  be  forgiven  !" 


26  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

He  listened,  and  a  holy  charm 
Composed  his  breast,  and  staid  his  arm. 

"  I  do  forgive  !"  he  calmly  said, 
And  patient  sheathed  his  spotless  blade. 

;:  Steinfort,  I  leave  thee  to  thy  thought ; 
Our  quarrel,  though  I  sought  it  not — 
Thy  hate — thy  blindness,  I  deplore  ; 
Go,  live,  and  tempt  my  soul  no  more  ! 
Poor  Mahmoud  !" — and  he  dashed  a  tear- 

Ci  Thou  wast  my  friend — my  comrade  dear  ! 
And  kind  were  Heaven,  if  to  my  vow, 
It  grant  another  true  as  thou  !" 

He  went — a  statue  Steinfort  there, 
Stood  fixed  in  fury  and  despair; 
And  near  him  lingered  in  the  shade, 
With  beating  heart,  a  trembling  maid ; 
Loulou,  whose  mother  long  had  swayed, 
With  skill  and  talent  manifold. 
The  costly  palace's  household. 
She  all  had  heard — and  all  had  seen — 
Half  hidden  in  the  thicket  green. 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  27 


CANTO    III. 

AND  now  with  morning's  dewy  light, 
Earth,  air,  and  heaven  again  are  bright, 
And  nature,  waking  from  the  night, 

In  freshest  beauty  glows. 
Ulric  went  forth  his  stroll  to  take, 
To  mark  the  silent  morning  break, 
The  garden's  sweetness  to  inhale, 
Where  miogled,  on  the  balmy  gale, 

The  lilac  and  the  rose. 
But  not  he  went  to  taste  alone 
The  fragrance  of  the  opening  dawn, 
Or  mark  the  dew-drops  on  the  lawn, 

The  lilac's  luscious  scent. 
Less  pleasing  thoughts  his  mind  employ, 
Disturb  his  peace,  and  chase  his  joy. 


28  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Of  Steinfort,  ere  he  left  his  room, 
With  saucy  air.  the  flippant  groom, 

Brought  message  insolent : 
"  Thy  uncle,  from  the  hunt  to-day, 
Bids  thee,  at  home,  my  lord,  to  stay," 
And  smiling,  then  did  turn  away. 
Already  now  their  horses'  feet, 
In  the  far  distance  faint  retreat. 

"  Strange  message  !  and  with  meaning  fraught — 
To  something  points  :  I  know  not  what. 
But,  with  my  uncle,  by  the  rood  ! 
Steinfort's  hunt  bodes  me  little  good. 
Well !  let  him  hunt,  and  let  him  plot ! 
I  trust  in  Heaven,  and  heed  him  not." 

And,  musing  thus,  he  hears  the  sound 
Of  a  light  footstep  on  the  ground. 
And  Loulou  stood — the  gentle  maid, 
With  beating  heart,  and  half  afraid — 

An  artless  girl  and  sweet. 
Too  artless  and  too  sweet,  also, 


ULKIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  29 

For  her  own  peace,  as  she  may  know, 
Ere  long,  and  now  she  sought  to  throw 
Herself  at  Ulric's  feet. 

•'  Oh,  my  good  lord  ! — this  lonely  spot — 
Heaven  grants  the  interview  I  sought !" 

"  Well,  pretty  Loulou,  well !" 
"  A  dreadful  tale — I  overheard 
Last  night — this  morning — in  a  word, 
I  scarce  know  how  to  tell !" 

Count  Ulric,  with  caressing  hand, 
Smoothed  her  soft  hair,  and  bade  her  stand. 
Compose  her  pale  disorder,  and 

Say  all  as  it  befell. 
And  thought  that  in  his  life  he  ne'er 
Had  seen  so  graceful  maid  and  fair. 

"  A  tale  of  horror,  dark  to  hear, 
Pours  Steinfort  in  thy  uncle's  ear  ; 
Thy  spotless  name  he  blights  by  stealth, 
Incensed  that  of  his  future  wealth 


30  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Thou  hast  an  equal  part. 
Against  thee,  witnesses  hath  brought, 
And  now  a  fearful  change  hath  wrought 

Within  thy  uncle's  heart, 
Who  thinks  that,  yesterday,  in  strife, 
Thou  basely  sought  Count  Steinfort's  life  ; 
And,  quickly  conquered,  owest  thy  own 
To  Steinfort's  pitying  hand  alone  ! 
And  so  the  groom,  by  gold  won  o'er, 
Brought  to  thy  uncle's  presence,  swore. 
'  And  if,'  cried  Steinfort,  l  thus  for  me. 
Lies  wait  his  foul  duplicity  ; 
If  thus  he  stake  his  life  for  mine, 
Dear  uncle,  who  can  answer  thine  ? 
Who  can  his  dark  design  control  ? 
For  thee,  death  lurks  in  every  bowl !' 

"  Tongue  cannot  tell  how  each  false  word 
Thy  uncle's  jealous  bosom  stirred  ; 
His  cheeks  first  pale,  then  red  appear — 
With  fury  now,  and  now  with  fear. 
At  length  he  vowed,  this  night,  to  tear 


ULRIC;    OB,  THE   VOICES.  31 

The  testament  where  them  art  heir  : 
Thus  far  I  heard — nor  longer  stayed, 
But  spoke — though  but  an  humble  maid. 
Aloud  I  spoke,  and  boldly  said  : 
The  fight  had  Steinfort's  self  begun. 
By  Mahmoud's  death — by  thee  'twas  won, 
Who  ne'er  didst  seek  his  treacherous  life, 
But  gave  it,  victor,  in  the  strife. 
With  my  own  eyes  I  saw  the  deed. 
And  false  was  all  the  Count  had  said.' 
Again,  oh  !  may  I  never  see 
That  dreadful  look  he  cast  on  me. 
And  ere  another  hour  had  passed, 
A  message  came — I  was  outcast ! 
I  and  my  mother,  from  the  door 
Were  thrust,  and  bid  return  no  more. 
For  thee,  to-day,  they  hunt — this  night 
The  scribe  another  will  must  write. 
To-morrow  thou,  alas,  wilt  be 
Sent  forth  in  shame  and  penury — 
Thy  uncle's  face  no  more  to  see ; 
Thy  only  trust  in  pitying  Heaven — 


32 


ULRIC ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Thy  fortune  all  to  Steinfort  given. 
Farewell !   farewell !    my  tale  is  told  ; 
Nay,  good  my  lord — I  seek  not  gold." 

"  What  seek'st  thou  then  ?     What  can  I  do, 
To  pay  thy  friendship,  sweet  Loulou  ?" 

"  I  ask,  my  lord,  no  other  pay — 
I  saw — I  heard  thee  yesterday — 
The  words  to  Mahmoud  thou  didst  say  ! 
That  every  servant — every  friend — 
Did  only  to  thy  fortune  bend — " 

"  But  tell  me,  Loulou,  tell  me  why, 
To  me,  this  ardent  sympathy  ? 
Thy  ruin  stares  thee  in  the  face — 
Why,  in  thy  thought,  finds  mine  such  place  ? 

"  Oh  first,  my  lord,  because  the  right 
Is  on  thy  side,  all  proof  despite. 
And  then  because,  Count  Steinfort  here, 
Inspires  distrust  and  chilling  fear. 
And  then  because — because — that  thou1' — 


ULEIC  ;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  33 

She  paused — when  o'er  her  cheek  and  brow, 

He  marked  the  soft  suffusion  flow, 

Her  downcast  eyes  her  quickening  breath — 

Her  blush,  now  faded  pale  as  death — 

He'r  modest  kerchief's  heaving  fold 

The  farther  secret  amply  told. 

And  well,  in  sooth,  did  Ulric  need 
The  voice,  before,  his  virtue's  meed. 
And  what  that  voice  did  clearly  say, 
Well  did  he  hear,  and  well  obey. 

"  Ulric,  behold  a  simple  niaid, 
By  guileless  heart  to  love  betrayed, 
Whose  artless  nature  turns  to  thee, — 
Sole  master  of  her  destiny  ! 
Oh,  haste  thee  to  the  dewy  rose, 
That  in  the  earliest  morning  blows, 
And  soil  its  leaves,  and  rudely  tear, 
And  cast  its  fragments  on  the  air. 
Go  to  the  cool,  transparent  tide, 
That  bubbles  from  the  mountain  side, 
%* 


34  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Where  pilgrims  drink,  and  there  by  night 
Pour  poison  in  its  waves  of  light. 
On  grassy  mead,  where  children  play, 
In  life's  delightful  holiday, 
Go  loosen,  ere  the  morn  awake, 
Mid  clustering  flowers,  the  deadly  snake  ; 
Or  where,  behind  the  dungeon's  grate, 
The  pallid  prisoner  meets  his  fate, 
Despairing  pines  or  starving  dies — 
Go,  goad  and  mock  his  miseries. 
Do  these — aye  more,  and  hopeful  live  ; 
Man  may  forget,  or  God  forgive  ! 
But  if  thou  dare  the  first  instil 
Into  pure  heart,  the  thought  of  ill, 
Scorning  God's  clear,  tremendous  will, 
And.  from  her  flight  to  heaven's  throne, 
Draw  one  young  struggling  angel  down — 
Light  may'st  thou  laugh,  and  careless  live- 
Thou  hast  stern  reckoning  yet  to  give. 
When,  quenched,  at  last,  thy  tainted  breai 
Thou  starid'st  alone  with  God  and  Death." 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  35 

Through  Ulric's  heart  flew  every  word. 
He  knew  not  if  he  thought  or  heard. 

:<  Loulou  !  I  thank  thee  !  fancy  not 
Thy  generous  bearing  e'er  forgot. 
From  Steinfort,  heaven  my  fate  will  shield ; 
And  not  so  light  we  soldiers  yield. 
Or  if,  by  wicked  arts  undone, 
I  wander,  outcast  and  alone. 
Think  not  my  hope  and  courage  gone. 
I  reck — not  I — the  lowering  blow — 
My  way  to  carve  I  well  shall  know. 
But  thou,  young  girl,  whose  generous  love 
By  thy  own  ruin  thou  dost  prove, 
Thy  strongest  purpose  well  must  be, 
Thy  native  vale  again  to  see. 
Where,  by  thy  grandsire's  hamlet  side. 
Flows  peaceful  on  the  Oder's  tide. 
Back  thou  shalt  go,  with  prayer  of  mine. 
May  ever  flow  as  gently  thine  ! 
Thy  feeble  grandsire's  trembling  age 
No  more  must  lose  so  sweet  a  page. 


36  ULRIC;    OE,  THE   VOICES. 

Go  !  Loulou  go !  I  love,  in  thee, 

Thy  innocence,  thy  purity. 

A  halo  brightrby  angels  given. 

Keep  it — it  lights  thy  steps  to  heaven. 

If  e'er  thy  simple  wants  require — 

I  am  thy  brother — or  thy  sire. 

And  here  my  purse — with  doubly  o'er 

All  that  thy  need  requires  and  more. 
Nay,  not  a  word — thou  will  not  choose 
My  last  and  earnest  wish  refuse. 
Thy  mother  may  its  contents  use. 
Sweet  girl !  farewell !  and  if,  again, 
Poor  Mahmoud  heard  my  musing  strain, 
I  would  not  tell  that  every  friend 
Did  only  to  my  fortune  bend. 
Such  error  should  be  frank  confest. 
Fidelity  and  truth,  'twere  best 
To  seek  in  Loulou's  artless  breast." 

She  went,  nor  raised  her  timid  eye. 
One  moment  Ulric's  heart  beat  high, 
And  heaved  the  soft,  reluctant  sigh. 


ULRIC  ;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  37 

But  then,  from  every  weakness  free, 

• 

Regained  all  virtue's  liberty. 

"  And  thus  the  eagle,  when  he  flies, 
Where  meadows  spread  and  forests  rise, 
Beholds  the  hunter  aim  below, 
And  in  his  bosom  dreads  the  blow ; 
But  turning,  in  triumphant  flight, 
Ascends  once  more  his  realm  of  light  ; 
On  balanced  wing  floats,  calm  and  even, 
Unruffled  in  the  azure  heaven." 

These  words  of  spiritual  pride, 

Through  Ulric's  mind  did  subtly  glide, 

Breathed  by  the  shadow  at  his  side, 

Who  smiled  to  marked  his  pow'r  defied, 

And  thus  with  ominous  hate,  inaudible,  replied : 

"  Aye  !  aye  !  the  eagle,  when  he  flies, 
Where  meadows  spread  and  forests  rise, 
Beholds  the  hunter  aim  below, 
And  proudly  soars  above  the  blow ; 


38  ULKIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Ascends,  ha !  ha  !  with  loftier  flight, 

His  boasted  realms  of  azure  light ; 

And  floats,  on  balanced  wing  and  even 

Earth  scorning  in  the  heights  of  heaven. 

But,  at  the  last,  his  wing  shall  tire. 

Relax  his  nerve — and  cool  his  fire. 

And  seek  repose,  his  wearied  breast, 

On  earth-bound  cliff  where  hangs  his  nest. 

The  deadly  hunter,  following  there, 

Tracks  him  through  all  the  fields  of  air ; 

No  food  shall  taste — or  slumber  know, 

Till  at  his  feet  th'  aspiring  foe 

Lies  humbled  in  the  dust,  and  low. 

Chains  those  heav'n-cleaving  pinions  bind. 

With  tangled  plume,  in  cage  confined, 

He  sits — the  gaze — the  laughter  of  mankind  !'' 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  39 


CANTO   IV. 

THE  day  sped  on  and  sadly  sped, 

O'er  thoughtful  Ulric's  lonely  head, 

And  eve  her  dewy  shadows  spread, 

When  from  the  gay  and  busy  town 

He  wandered  pensive  and  alone. 

."Dark  thoughts  allured — thoughts  dark  and  new ; 

In  vain — in  vain  he  backward  drew, 

Still  through  his  heated  mind  they  flew. 

Steinfort  and  his  mysterious  hate, 

His  uncle — Loulou — his  own  fate. 

Down  from  his  height  of  fortune  hurled, 

The  gossip  of  the  heartless  world. 

And,  yesterday,  for  one  short  hour, 

His  hand  had  grasped  wealth,  splendor,  power  : 

To-day,  thrust  forth. — a  blackened  name — 


40  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

With  insult,  poverty,  and  shame. 

Onward  his  musing  way  he  wends, 

Along  the  river's  graceful  bends, 

Along  a  narrow  winding  road, 

Deep  in  the  forest  solitude, 

Where,  through  the  massive  foliage,  broke 

A  grove  of  tall  and  stately  oak, 

Through  whose  black  shades  could  scarcely  stray, 

Or  sunny  beam,  or  moon's  soft  ray. 

"  By  Heaven  !"  he  said,  "  I  was  a  fool ! 
I  should  base  Steinfort's  worthless  soul, 
On  yestermorn,  with  one  sharp  blow, 
Have  hurried  to  the  shades  below  ! 
And,  for  my  uncle,  why  should  I 
Mourn  him,  whene'er  he  choose  to  die ! 
He  doth  not  waste  on  me  one  sigh. 
His  plan  with  Steinfort  he  will  hold. 
I  know  his  nature,  proud  and  bold, 
Decided  once,  his  purpose  stern, 
No  human  power  can  ever  turn. 
Perchance,  while  idle  here  I  stand. 


ULEIC  ;    OB,  THE   VOICES.  41 

He  tears  the  will  with  reckless  hand. 
I  know  not,  faith,  why  I  should  rue, 
Had  yesterday  the  news  been  true  !" 

Oh,  where  did  Ulric's  noble  mind 

Such  base,  unwonted  fancies  find  ? 

His  bosom  heaved — his  cheek  grew  hot: 

Faint  reason  called — he  heeded  not. 

On,  on  he  trod  with  haughtier  stride. 

Ambition,  envy,  hatred,  pride, 

Inflame  his  veins — his  bosom  swell. 

Who  deemed  that  there  such  monsters  dwell? 

And  in  that  hour,  oh  !  who  can  tell, 

Before  him  spread  what  dangerous  sight ; 

And  rose  what  visions,  startling  bright, 

Love,  splendor,  glory,  power,  delight. 

As  once  upon  the  mountain  height ! 

Thus  sunk  in  thought,  by  chance  he  raised 
His  flashing  eyes  and  upward  gazed ; 
And  paused,  rebuked,  awe-struck,  amazed, 
As  glittering,  vast  and  high, 


42  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Unutterable  and  sublime. 
Untouched  by  change — unworn  by  time. 
World  beyond  world  in  myriad  bright, 
Evolving  circles  infinite, 

He  saw  the  wondrous  sky. 

"  Thou,  G-od  !"  he  said,  «  dost  walk  that  plain, 
And  o'er  those  fields  eternal  reign, 
Each  wheeling  sphere  control ; 
Mark  each  far  orb,  each  sparkling  sun, 
His  radiant  race,  each  comet  run, 
Each  system  round  thee-  roll." 

Far  soaring  thus  his  dazzled  gaze, 
Through  boundless  heaven's  eternal  blaze, 
While  revelations  o'er  his  soul, 
Of  holiest  truth,  like  morning  stole, 
A  voice  he  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear, 
Beyond  the  farthest  starry  sphere, 
Beyond  where  fancy  ever  trod — 
':  Tremble  thou  earth— for  lam  God."  } 
He  listened — all  his  sin  he  felt, 
And  prayed  that  God  to  guard  from  guilt, 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  43 

"  In  Christ's  name  !  my  petition  hear  ; 
From  earth — from  sin  my  conscience  clear  ! 
Let  not  my  steps  from  virtue  stray  ! 
Hold  up  my  goings  in  thy  way  ! 
And  where  I  tread  be  holy  ground  ! 
And  may  thy  angels  hover  round  ! 
My  failing  feet,  if  left  alone, 
I  know  may  dash  against  a  stone : 
Guide  me  !  and  keep  me  for  thy  own  ! 
I  bow  my  forehead  in  the  dust, 
Save  from  hell's  craft,  and  life's  destroying  lust !" 

Did  fancy  dream  1  or  did  he  hear, 

Upon  the  silent,  starry  air, 

A  distant  strain — and  rushing  wings — 

Sounds  as  of  angel-wanderings  ! 

And.  from  aerial  voices  fell 

The  words  ?  or  came  from  founts  that  dwell 

In  his  own  breast  ?   Oh  who  can  tell  ? 

"  Keep  thy  heart,  Ulric,  in  the  strife ; 
From  it  the  issues  are  of  life. 


44  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Be  strong  !  let  never  sin  o'ertake  thee 
I  will  not  fail  thee  nor  forsake  thee." 

Scarce  ceased  the  words,  when  through  the  trees, 
Came  mingling  voices  on  the  breeze, 
And  close  at  hand  surprised  he  sees 
His  uncle  and  Count  Steinfort  ride  ; 
A  single  groom  is  at  their  side  j 
From  their  long  hunt  but  just  returned, 
And  yet  his  foe  with  vengeance  burned. 
For  Steinfort's  scornful  lips  did  say  : 
"  Like  a  foul  reptile,  from  thy  way, 
Forth  thrust  him  !"  and  the  uncle  cried : 

-To-night  he's  disinherited — 

No  nephew  more  of  mine  ! 
By  this,  the  will  must  ready  be. 
Come  on  and  soon  thyself  shall  see 

How  gladly  I  will  sign. 
Good  Steinfort !  o'er  my  silver  brow, 
I've  seen  some  sixty  winters  flow, 

And,  by  our  Lady  !  yet. 


ULEIC  ;    OE,  THE   VOICES.  45 

Did  never,  in  my  whole  life  long, 
Insult — no  matter  what — or  wrong, 
E'er  pardon  or  forget." 

He  had  not  ceased  when  fiercely  sprang 
Five  lusty  ruffians  out  with  clang 
Of  cursing  voice  and  clashing  blade 
That  gleamed  above  each  startled  head, 

And  glittered  through  the  night. 
Your  money  or  your  life,  my  men  ;" 
And  every  word  a  blow,  and  then 

All  furious  broke  the  fight. 
Crushed  soon  by  odds  might  well  astound, 
The  groom  lay  bleeding  on  the  ground, 
And  the  bloodthirsty  miscreants  drew 
In  narrower  circle  round  the  two. 
'Twas  fearful  odds — 'twas  deadly  strife  : 
'Twas  blow  for  blow,  and  life  for  life — 
When,  for  one  moment  petrified, 
As  if  by  magic,  at  his  side, 
To  see  such  sudden  vision  rise, 
With  devilish  hopes  to  lure  his  eyes  ; 


46  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

And,  had  he  but  one  moment  more 

Refrained — the  will — the  wealth  were  sure — 

Ulric,  off!  off!  in  horror,  threw 

The  thought,  that  back  his  falchion  drew, 

The  black,  the  execrable  thought, 

By  what  infernal  demon  taught ! 

Again — again — before  him  brought — 

Leaped  forward,  and  with  earnest  blow, 

Cleft  through  the  head  his  uncle's  foe, 

And  then  laid  bleeding  Steinfort's  low  ; 

Both,  if  abandoned  to  their  fate, 

Had  passed,  that  night,  death's  bloody  gate. 

The  three  survivors,  mad  with  rage, 

At  once  their  single  foe  engage  ; 

But  fought  in  vain,  for  met  they  here 

No  feeble,  white-haired  cavalier, 

And  shrunk  before  far  other  brand, 

Than  waved  in  Steinfort's  helpless  hand. 

Like  lightning  struck,  with  fearful  ire, 

And  many  a  spark  of  heavy  fire, 

Struck  sharp  and  deadly,  Ulric's  blade  ; 

And  many  a  ghastly  gash  it  made, 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  47 

As  cool  as  if  it  idly  played 
At  fencing  bout  in  noonday  glade. 
Such  hand  must  conquer,  had  been  there 
Full  twice  as  many  as  there  were  ; 
And  that  they  found  full  soon,  for  flight 
Sought  never,  in  more  desperate  plight, 
The  frightened  deer,  pursued  by  hounds, 
Their  booty,  only  dripping  wounds — 
While  three  upon  the  trampled  field, 
With  curses  deep,  their  life-blood  yield. 


48  ULRIC;  OR,  THE  VOICES. 


CANTO    V. 

COUNT  Rosenberg  that  evening  sat, 

With  all  a  judge's  solemn  state, 
In  stern  vindictive  mood. 

A  skilful  leach  the  trifling  wound, 

In  Ulric's  bosom  careful  bound. 

The  whispering  servants  crowded  round  ; — 

With  thoughtful  eyes  that  sought  the  ground. 

Dark  Steinfort  silent  stood. 
And  ever  pale  that  lofty  brow, 
Its  ashy  hue  was  ghastlier  now, 
And  mute  the  lips,  and  close  compressed 
And  bent  the  arms  upon  the  breast — 
And  while,  as  a  contagious  pest, 
All  shunned  his  guilty  side. 
No  lofty  martyr  in  the  land 


ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  49 

In  attitude,  more  calm  could  stand, 

Of  innocence  and  pride. 
Count  Rosenberg  the  haughty  look 
Indignant  marked,  and  sternly  spoke  : 

"  Count  Steinfort,  thou  didst  hear  me  say. 
While  riding  hither  on  the  way, 
That,  in  my  life,  I  never  yet 
A  wrong  could  pardon  or  forget. 
If  thou  didst  doubt — at  once  be  thou 
A  witness  and  example  now. 
Thou'st  played  a  cunning  game  and  bold, 
That  fits  a  villain,  false  and  cold. 
I  ne'er  did  think  on  earth  to  see 
Such  baseness — least  of  all  in  thee  ! 
E'en  from  suspicion  safe,  till  fate, 
This  night,  thy  crimes,  so  black  and  great, 
Did  bid  the  dying  groom  relate. 
This  miserable,  guilty  fool. 
Purchased  by  thee — a  willing  tool, 
Who  his  eternal  hope  hath  sold, 
For  some  poor  bits  of  paltry  gold. 

8 


50  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

By  lies  to  blast  Count  Ulric's  fame, 
And  work  his  ruin  and  his  shame, 
With  many  a  tale,  for  many  a  year, 
Thy  poisoned  tongue  abused  my  ear. 
With  damning  charge,  with  forged  proof, 
Thou  kept  'st  my  heart  from  his  aloof, 
And  almost  drove  him  from  my  roof. 
And,  but  for  this  heaven-ordered  fray, 
Ulric  had  been,  by  thee,  to-day, 
Thrust  rudely  forth,  outcast,  to  rove, 
And  from  my  fortune  and  my  love. 
And  this,  I  learn,  he  well  did  know — 
Our  honest  Loulou  told  him  so. 
The  will  still  good,  and  yet,  this  night. 
In  danger  and  in  death's  despite, 
v    Whose  generous  hand  hath  struck  to  save 
Both  of  us  from  a  certain  grave  ? 
This  is  the  man  no  laws  control, 
Who  watched  with  dagger  and  with  bowl ; 
And  this  the  wretch,  with  dark  design, 
Who  sought  thy  life,  as  well  as  mine. 
Liar  and  slanderer  !  black  as  night ! 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  51 

Begone  !  pollute  no  more  my  sight. 

I  cut  thee  off — away  !  begone  ! 

The  ruin  thou  for  him  hast  sown, 

To  burst  this  night — be  now  thy  own  ! 

Here  lies,  unaltered  yet,  the  will, 

"Which,  with  mute  words,  doth  witness  still 

My  equal  love — its  page  I  tear — 

And  Ulric  be  my  only  heir." 

Then  Ulric  forward  stepped,  and  said. 
While  on  his  uncle's  arm  he  laid 
His  bloody  hand,    "  Dear  uncle,  I 
Was  never  Steinfort's  enemy. 
That  he  is  mine.  I  know  not  why ; 
But,  friend  or  foe — his  arts  o'erthrown, 
I  crave  for  me  a  single  boon." 

A  boon?  to  thee? — That  all  may  know 
What  confidence  and  love  I  owe, 
Thy  favor  name  ;  and  whatsoe'er, 
To  grant  it  on  the  spot,  I  swear  ! 
Although  it  half  my  fortune  were." 


52  ULRIC  ;    OK,  THE   VOICES. 

"  Then,  uncle,  be  the  past  forgot  ! 
Revenge  is  Heaven's,  pursue  it  not ! 
The  will  names  Steinfort  my  co-heir, 
Gives  of  thy  wealth  an  equal  share  ; 
Still  leave  his  name  unaltered  there. 
And,  for  my  sake,  refrain  to  tear ! 
Thy  rule,  for  once,  to  banish  strive, 
And,  this  time,  pardon  and  forgive  ! 
Still  'neath  thy  roof  let  Steinfort  live  ; 
To  shame  his  wrath,  my  gentle  word 
Will  answer  better  than  a  sword." 

Stamped  Steinfort  now,  with  boundless  ire. 

And  flashed  his  eyes  unnatural  fire. 
"  Demon  !  this  is  too  much  !"  he  said, 

And  thrust  a  pistol  to  his  head. 

The  flaming  peal  astounds  the  hall, 

Scarce  Ulric  'scaped  the  whistling  ball, 

Deep  buried  in  a  golden  wall. 

Loud  Steinfort  laughed,  in  savage  mood, 

And  on  his  lip  the  foam-flake  stood. 
"  Upon  your  knees  !"  he  cried,  "  for  I 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  53 

Am  Emperor  of  G-ermaiiy  ! 
And  fifty  thousand  fathoms  down, 
Vile  Ulric  hides  my  golden  crown." 
Now  blended  cries  of  rage  augment 
The  horror  and  astonishment ; 
And  to  the  dungeon  some  would  bear, 
And  some  would  slay  him  standing  there — 
When  spoke  the  doctor,  calm  and  sad : 
<;  Back  !  silence  !  back  !  the  Count  is  mad  ! 
And,  ere  the  morning  streak  the  sky, 
Without  your  dagger's  points,  must  die." 

Within  the  room  where  Steinfort  lay, 

And  mingling  with  the  flame 
Of  the  pale  lamp's  expiring  ray, 
The  soft  beams  of  the  breaking  day 

In  silent  lustre  came. 
And  Ulric  stood  and  gazed  upon 
His  dying  foe — with  him  alone  ; 
For  so  the  wretched  Steinfort  chose 
No  other  hand  his  eyes  should  close, 
And  but  one  holy  friar  there 


ULKIC  ;    OE,  THE   VOICES. 

His  crimes  to  count,  and  aid  his  prayer. 
Now  came  at  last,  with  death's  deep  fears, 
His  reason,  lost  so  many  years ; 
And  now  the  kneeling  father  hears 

The  trembling  infidel, 
All  shuddering,  tell  his  wicked  life, 
How  weak  he  yielded  in  the  strife 
With  envy,  hatred,  malice,  pride — 
How  oft  he  heard  sweet  voices  chide, 
But  scornful  turned  from  God  aside. 
And  chose  the  devil  for  his  guide. 

Who  led  to  burning  Hell, 
The  only  prize  that  e'er  can  win 
The  blind  of  heart,  by  deadly  sin. 
Not  half  the  story  yet  is  done, 
When  lo  !  death's  damp  his  brow  upon. 

"  Kneel,  Ulric,  kneel,"  he  said.  "  and  e'er 

My  spirit  parted  be, 
My  blessing  take — forgive — with  prayer — 

Oh  !  ask  God's  grace  for  me  !" 
"  True  as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven," 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  55 

Said  Ulric,  «  I  forgive. 
And  on  my  knees  implore  of  Heaven 

That  both  of  us  may  live. 
By  Christ's  redeeming  blood  to  be 
Washed  from  earth's  loathsome  leprosy." 

«  I  thank— save— God— "     *     * 

His  hands  to  raise 

He  strove,  but  left  the  broken  phrase — 
The  voiceless  marble  lips  forbore — 
Their  task  is  done — they  pray  no  more. 

And  thus,"  said  Ulric,  "  they  that  plow 
Iniquity,  and  darkness  sow, 
Do  reap  the  same  they  cast  abroad. 
And  perish  by  the  blast  of  God  !" 

My  son,"  the  white-haired  sage  replied, 
He  who  for  man's  salvation  died, 
On  us  to  judge  doth  never  call. 
Lest,  tempted,  we  ourselves  may  fall. 


56  ULKIC  ;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

Low  in  the  dust,  thy  prayer  must  be 

For  meekness,  faith,  and  charity. 

Judge  never  !  and,  oh  !  cast  aside 

The  haughty  look,  the  heart  of  pride. 

To  us  it  is  not  given  to  know 

The  source  whence  Steinfort's  sorrows  flow- 

If  damning  guilt,  or  piteous  woe. 

If  his  self-willed  and  wandering  feet, 

In  mocking  G-od,  did  madness  meet — 

The  withering  bolt  in  anger  sent, 

To  strike  with  endless  punishment ; 

Or  whether,  as  I  humbly  pray, 

A  body  sick — a  mind  astray, 

Did  lead  from  God  his  feet  away  ; 

Who  sent  affliction's  fiery  wave, 

Not  more  to  punish  than  to  save. 

In  mercy  let  his  ashes  rest : 

Look  thou,  my  son,  to  thy  own  breast." 


ULKIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  57 


CANTO     VI. 

IT  was  the  hour  of  midnight  deep  : 
Ulric  lay  stretched  in  balmy  sleep, 

When,  lo  !  a  shape  obscene, 
With  stealthy  pace  and  envious  leer, 
Did  sudden  at  his  side  appear. 

And  o'er  his  bosom  lean. 

"  So  ho  !  while  yet  thou  rnay'st,  Pure  one  ! 
In  virtue's  pleasing  dream,  sleep  on  ! 
Thou  'scap'st  not  thus  ;  Hell's  every  snar» 
Let  all  thy  angels,  if  they  dare, 
Pretend  to  save  thee.     Effort  vain  ! 
I  mark  thy  foul  heart's  fatal  stain  ! 
Sleep  on  !  sleep  on  !  we  meet  again." 
3* 


ULRIC ;    OR,  THE    VOICES. 

Thus  the  remorseless  tempter  breathed 
His  threatening  words,  in  vapor  wreathed, 
Which,  with  voluptuous  influence  fraught, 
Of  erring  hope  and  poisoned  thought, 
In  loveliest  forms  of  earth  arrayed, 
Around  th'  unconscious  sleeper  played  ; 
Down  sinking  slowly,  half  inclose 
The  cheek,  where  modest  virtue  glows, 
And  then,  in  beauteous  visions,  roll 
Across  his  mind,  and  through  his  soul. 
And  straightway  Ulric  seems  to  roam, 
With  a  sweet  one — he  knows  not  whom — 
O'er  many  a  meadow,  bright  arid  broad, 
Through  many  a  deep  and  solemn  wood. 

Thus  far — when  started  from  the  bed, 
With  terror  struck,  the  fiend,  and  fled, 
Ashamed,  unable,  and  afraid 

An  angel's  glance  to  meet. 
So  the  hyena  foul  at  night, 
That  seeks,  with  monstrous  appetite, 
Of  some  new  grave  the  inmate  bright, 


ULK1C;    OK,  THE   VOICES. 

With  fear  and  conscious  guilt  takes  flight. 
Disturbed  by  human  feet. 

And  as  he  vanished,  wrapped  in  gloom, 
A  tender  radiance  filled  the  room, 
So  once  our  Saviour's  empty  tonjb, 
And  Ulric's  poisoned  slumber  broke  ; 
Who  with  convulsive  start  awoke, 
As  one  who  falls  into  the  sea 
From  some  high  mountain  suddenly  ! 
And  a  clear  voice,  all  low  and  still, 
Flowed  through  his  veins  with  secret  thrill. 


59 


"  Ulric  !  well  done  !  thou  hast,  by  faith's  pure  light, 

Escaped  perdition.     As  thy  lips  did  pray, 
Around  thee  gathered  hosts  of  angels  bright, 

Ready  to  guide  thee  to  eternal  day. 
For,  know,  the  Evil  One  doth  haunt  thy  way, 
And,  for  thee,  weaves  another,  deadlier  snare. 

Watch  thy  weak  heart !  it  leads  thy  steps  astray, 
Nor  cling  to  earthly  thing,  how  sweet  so  e'er  ! 
Oh,  Ulric  !  tremble  !  watch  !  beware  !  beware !" 


60  ULRIC;    OB,  THE  VOICES. 


•CANTO  vn. 

THE  castle  windows  stream  with  light, 

And  far  around  the  music  falls 
Out  upon  the  shadowy  night, 

Echoing  from  the  golden  halls, 
And  floating  o'er  the  silver  tide, 
Where,  gentle  Spree  !  thy  waters  glide. 
And  scarcely,  since,  thy  waves  have  seen, 
Within  the  walls,  a  brighter  train, 
When  pleasure  wakes,  and  hope  is  high, 
And  reigns  the  royal  revelry. 
And  sight  it  was  for  sovereign  meet, 
Where,  in  the  dance,  those  airy  feet 
Lightly  flew,  as  Zephyr  sweet. 

If,  for  a  moment,  tired,  perchance, 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  61 

E'en  youth  and  beauty,  of  the  dance, 
Or  age,  or  sadness,  found  the  ball 
Too  hot,  too  dazzling,  lo  !  a  hall 
Enchanted  rose,  a  forest  shade, 
With  mossy  bank  and  shadowy  glade ; 
From  the  wet  rock  a  fountain  play'd, 
With  dewy  sparkles  washed  the  ground, 
And  breathed  a  cooling  air  around  ; 
And,  through  the  heavy  foliage,  shone 
The  mimic  moonlight  softly  down, 
And  Indian  plants  and  palm-trees  stood, 
As  in  some  Asian  solitude, 
Where  Granges'  sacred  waters  flowed. 

Loit'ring  to  this  fairy  grove, 

Count  Rudolph  and  his  young  wife  rove. 

Loving  and  fair  was  Emiline — 

So  leans  upon  the  oak,  the  vine. 

And  where  the  ball-room  splendor  blazed, 

Old  Rosenberg,  attentive,  gazed 

At  Ulric,  who,  admiring,  led 

Along  the  dance  a  beauteous  maid. 


62  ULR1C;    OB,  THE    VOICES. 

"  We  mark  thy  nephew,  Count,  and  sooth  ! 
Not  I  have  seen  a  nobler  youth. 
But  faith  !  'tis  time  he  yield  to  fate, 
And  put  on  Hymen's  sober  state." 

"  True  !  true  !"  Count  Rosenberg  replied, 
"  Oft  his  unwilling  heart  I  chide  !" 

"  And  that  young  maiden  at  his  side  ! 
The  pretty  Countess  Ravenstcin — 
With  lips  as  sweet  as  muscadine, 
And  cheeks  as  bright,  and  eyes  as  blue, 
As  lover's  heart  did  e'er  undo, 
Or  pierced  a  soldier's  corslet  through. 
A  richer  heiress  none  can  see, 
Or  lovelier,  in  all  Germany. 
And,  by  our  Lady  !  were  not  I 
Too  fast,  ha  !  ha  !  my  chance  to  try, 
Despite  the  snow  that  many  a  year, 
Confound  the  thing  !  has  sprinkled  here, 
Myself,  ha  !  ha  !  would  break  a  lance, 
To  lead  such  maiden  down  life's  dance." 


ULR1C;    OR,  THE    VOICES.  63 

Mused  Rosenberg  :  "  Thy  words  are  just ; 
Marry  he  ought,  and  marry  must, 
He  shall  be  wived  without  delay, 
Ere  slip  another  year  away. 
Nor  fear  I,  surely,  blood  of  mine 
To  mix  with  that  of  Ravenstein. 
But,  reap  we  not  before  we  sow  ? 
Love,  Ulric's  breast  did  never  know  ! 
More  than  such  clouds  as  lightly  rise, 
And  pass  as  light  in  summer  skies. 
'Tis  strange  a  heart  so  warm  and  free" — 
"  Tush  !"  Hubert  laughed—"  leave  that  to  me  !" 

"  'Tis  well !"  the  aged  uncle  said  ; 
"  I  am  resolved — the  boy  shall  wed  ! 

The  last  descendant  of  a  line 

I  would  not  gladly  see  decline  !" 

"  But,"  added  gentle  Emiline, 
"  We  must  not  let  the  victim  know 
What  net  around  his  feet  we  throw  !" 


64  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Said  Hubert,  c;  At  our  old  chateau, 
A  month  or  two,  upon  the  Rhine, 
We'll  have  the  pretty  Ravenstein. 
And  kneel  he  shall  at  beauty's  shrine. 
Leave  me  to  tame  his  savage  mood  ; 
Send  him  to  us,  and,  by  the  rood ! 
The  youthful  fox  !  the  wary  trout ! 
We'll  find  a  way  to  tire  him  out ! 
And  strong  the  game,  and  swift  of  pace, 
That  'scapes  me  in  the  merry  chase !" 


ULKIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  65 


CANTO    VIII. 

On  come,  gentle  pilgrim, 

From  far  distant  strand. 
Come,  gaze  on  the  pride 

Of  the  old  German  land. 
On  that  wonder  of  nature, 

That  vision  divine 
Of  the  past  and  the  present, 

The  exquisite  Rhine. 
As  soft  as  a  smile, 

And  as  sweet  as  a  song, 
Its  famous  old  billows 

Roll  murm'ring  along. 
From  its  source  on  the  mount, 

Whence  it  flies  in  the  sea, 
It  flashes  with  beauty 


66  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

As  bright  as  can  be. 
"With  the  azure  of  heaven, 

Its  first  waters  flow, 
And  it  leaps  like  an  arrow 

Escaped  from  a  bow  ; 
While  reflecting  the  glories 

Its  hill-sides  that  crown, 
It  then  sweeps  in  grandeur 

By  castle  and  town. 
And  when,  from  the  red 

Gleaming  tow'rs  of  Mayence, 
Enchanted  thou'rt  borne 

In  bewildering  trance, 
By  death-breathing  ruin, 

By  life-giving  wine — 
By  thy  dark-frowning  turrets, 

Old  Ehrenbreitstein  ! 
To  where  the  half  magic 

Cathedral  looks  down 
On  the  crowds  at  its  base, 

Of  the  ancient  Cologne, 
While  in  rapture  thy  dazzled 


ULKIC  ;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  67 

And  wondering  eyes 
Scarce  follow  the  pictures. 

As  bright,  as  they  rise, 
As  the  dreams  of  thy  youth, 

Which  thou  vainly  wouldst  stay. 
But  they  float,  from  thy  longings, 

Like  shadows  away. 
Thou  wilt  find  on  the  banks 

Of  the  wonderful  stream, 
Full  many  a  spot 

That  an  Eden  doth  seem. 
And  thy  bosom  will  ache 

With  a  secret  despair, 
That  thou  canst  not  inhabit 

A  landscape  so  fair, 
And  feign  thou  wouldst  linger 

Eternity  there. 

At  the  loveliest  bend  of  the  lovely  river, 
See  it  once,  forget  it  never. 
Swells  the  hill  o'er  a  valley  sweet, 
Where  Rudolph's  castle  had  its  seat. 


68  ULEIC  ;    OK,  THE   VOICES. 

Fair  it  was — a  vision  bright, 
Buried  in  foliage — bathed  in  light — 

A  velvet  lawn  more  green, 
And  spotless,  soft  and  tender,  ne'er, 
Shining  in  the  summer  air, 

From  a  river's  brink  did  lean. 
Look  for  it  not,  0  traveller  ! 
Only  a  heap  of  stones  is  there. 
Nothing  more  to-day  is  seen, 
Than  waving  wood  and  meadow  green. 
And  the  loftier  mountain  forms  that  rise. 
Leaning  their  breasts  on  the  azure  skies, 
lleaching  up  with  their  wooded  ground, 
And  closing  the  peaceful  vale  around, 
As  if  to  shut  out  noise  and  care. 
From  those  forest  shades,  from  that  fragrant  air. 
Nothing  else  remaineth  there. 

It  was  a  day  in  gorgeous  June, 
In  the  deepest  hush  of  afternoon, 
When  Ulric,  by  a  horseman's  way, 
Across  a  lofty  height  that  lay. 


ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  69 

The  summit  reached,  whose  brow  looked  o'er 
Rock  and  castle,  vale  and  shore. 
Entranced,  he  drew  his  courser's  rein, 
And  paused — as  he  would  thus  remain 
For  ever ! — thus  remain  to  gaze 
In  soft  delight  and  sweet  amaze. 

Tow'ring  up  in  feudal  state, 

Upon  a  lower  summit  sat 

The  castle  proud  of  Rudolstadt. 

Between,  the  valley,  bending  low, 

Reached  to  kiss  the  river's  flow, 

Then  backward  wound  where  gorges  deep 

Through  sloping  fields  and  forest  sweep. 

And  devious  walks  meandered  through 

Black  wood  and  stately  avenue, 

Climbed  graceful  up  the  steep  ascent, 

Or  down  the  broken  valley  went, 

Winding  in,  and  bending  round. 

Over  the  enchanted  ground, 

Through  blissful  shades  the  fancy  led, 

Where  angels'  feet  might  deign  to  tread. 


70  ULEIC;    OR,  THE    VOICES. 

Upon  the  landscape,  bright  and  warm, 
Lay  the  sunset's  radiant  charm. 
Ringing  through  the  vale  was  heard 
The  warbling  of  night's  wond'rous  bird  ; 
While  field  and  flow'r,  refreshed  with  dew, 
That  from  the  cooling  river  blew, 
Their  balmy  fragrance  upward  threw. 

Checked  sudden  in  his  swift  career, 
With  bending  neck,  and  pointed  ear, 
The  coal-black  Sultan,  silent,  stood, 
Down  gazing  broad  o'er  vale  and  flood. 

Scene  of  beauty  ! — Hour  of  rest ! — 
Wherefore  trembled  TTlric's  breast  ? 
Wherefore  stirred  the  secret  sigh  ? 
Whence  the  voice  that  floated  by  ? 
"  Earth  is  no  abiding  place. 
All  its  sweetness — all  its  grace  ! 
Trust  them  not  !  they  are  a  snare  ! 
Thou  k newest !  tliou  knowest !  beware  !  beware  !' 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  71 


While  thus  he  sat,  a  company 

Of  noble  knight  and  dame, 
Their  mirthful  voices  ringing  high. 
With  sportive  jest  and  revelry, 

Out  from  the  forest  came. 
And  straightway  all  with  greetings  loud 
Around  the  musing  Ulric  crowd. 
Hubert  and  Lady  Emiline, 
And  with  her,  Marie  Ravenstein, 
And  a  throng  of  others,  brave  and  fair, 
With  one  accord  their  joy  declare, 
And  in  the  mingling  throng  foremost, 
Loud  out-spoke  the  noisy  host, 

A  welcome  for  his  friend  ; 
While  his  lady  nearer  drew, 
And  gave  her  graceful  greeting  too, 
In  which,  her  smile  appearing  through, 

A  slight  reproach  did  blend. 

"  We  looked  not  for  so  long  delay, 
But  waited  thee  this  many  a  day. 
My  little  Fritz  and  I, 


72  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Last  evening,  thought  we  saw  thee  ride 
Up  from  the  plain."     The  boy  replied : 
"  And  watched  thee,  by  yon  fountain's  side. 
Until  ray  hair  with  dew  was  wet, 
And  the  last  tint  of  the  sunset 
Had  faded  from  the  sky." 

"  What !"  Ulric  asked,  "  and  can  it  be 
In  this  tall  boy,  thy  son  I  see  ! 
The  tiny,  rosy  babe,  whose  play 
Amused  me  so  but  yesterday  ?" 

"  Aye,"  Hubert  said,  "  and  stouter  knight, 
Of  the  same  years,  ne'er  put  to  flight 
Dragon  and  giant  from  the  field, 
Or  mighty  armies  taught  to  yield  ! 
A  handsome  stripling,  is  not  he  ? 
And,  by  the  way,  they  say  like  me  !" 

"  Like  thee  !"  He  paused,  and  seemed  to  trace 

More  of  the  mother  in  his  face — 
"  The  falling  lash— the  deepening  cheek— 


ULKIC ;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  73 

The  eye — the  smile — and  when  they  speak — " 
But  Hubert  listened  not,  for  he 
Addressed  him  to  the  fair  Marie, 
And  whispered  till  the  laughing  maid 
Blushed  deep  and  turned  away  her  head. 
While  Ulric,  at  her  beauty's  glow, 
To  Emiline  did  murmur  low : 
"  In  faith  !  we  soldiers,  'scape  the  war, 

Only  at  home  to  yield 
To  other  dangers,  deadlier  far, 
Than  e'er  our  mailed  bosoms  scar, 

Upon  the  hottest  field !" 

Laughed  Emiline  with  silvery  voice : 
"  Bight  well  we  cruel  dames  rejoice, 
To  mark  the  soft  mischance  ! 
And  love  to  stand  unpitying  by, 
And  see  you  boasting  warriors  die, 
By  Beauty's  conquering  glance." 

While  thus  they  spoke,  the  sable  steed, 
Which  Ulric  rode,  the  rest  admire, 
4 


74  ULKIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

His  limbs,  for  vigor  formed  and  speed, 

His  massive  strength,  his  warlike  fire. 
With  arched  neck  and  rolling  eye, 
His  head  superb,  now  lifted  high, 
With  sudden  toss  he  frequent  cast. 
Light  hanging  on  the  glossy  chest, 
The  foam-flake,  white  as  snow. 
While  startled,  now,  he  backward  trod, 
His  stamp  unpatient  broke  the  sod, 
Then  paused,  intelligent,  to  gaze, 
With  ears  erect  and  pleased  amaze. 
Upon  the  vale  below. 

And  Emiline  unheeding  laid 
Her  hand  upon  the  doubtful  steed, 
His  bending  neck  her  fingers  press, 
And  soothe  his  fear  with  soft  caress, 
And  something  of  love's  tenderness — 
Who,  with  distended  nostril,  first, 
Back  started,  quick,  with  shy  distrust, 
Then  gentler  turned,  in  mild  surprise, 
On  her  his  large  and  shining  eyes, 


ULKIC ;    OE,  THE   VOICES.  75 

And  bent  his  head  and  stood  at  rest, 
And  calmer  feelings  filled  his  breast, 
As  if  full  well,  to  judge,  he  knew, 
Between  such  lady  fair,  and  foe. 

"  Ho  Sultan  !  stand  !" 

The  iron  hand 
Of  Ulric  sought  in  vain, 

With  terror  filled, 

And  plunging  wild, 
His  sudden  flight  to  rein. 

All  furious  pressed 

The  fiery  beast, 
Through  shrieks  of  wild  alarm  ; 

One  more  step  on 

Had  trampled  down 
The  lady's  tender  form. 

Sole  way  there  gave 

Her  life  to  save — 
A  daring,  swift  retreat ; 

He  did  not  shrink, 

But  to  the  brink, 


76  ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

Back  forced  his  courser's  feet. 

And  shrieked  more  loud 

Th'  affrighted  crowd, 
As  horse  and  rider,  prone 

The  deep  chasm  o'er, 

One  moment  more 
Had  backward  gone  and  down. 
But  Ulric  had  a  quiet  eye, 
And  saw  a  heavy  sand-bank  lie, 
And  skilful  knew  his  fall  to  guide 
To  its  less  steep  and  yielding  side. 
And  hearty  laughter,  peal  on  peal, 
The  boisterous  Hubert's  joy  reveal ; 
And  clasped  hands  from  knight  and  dame, 
When,  backward  clambering,  Ulric  came, 
And  led  his  steed,  and  nearer  drew, 
And  joined  himself  the  laughter  too. 

"  But,  ho  !"  cried  Hubert,  with  alarm, 
"  The  blood  is  dripping  from  thy  arm  !" 
"  'Tis  nothing,"  Ulric  said — then  sank, 
And  paler  grew,  upon  a  bank. 


ULRIC;    OE,  THE  VOICES.  77 

Said  Hubert,  "  Nothing  !  on  my  life  ! 
Rip  up  the  sleeve  !     Look  to  him,  wife  ! 
Quick !  Emiline,  thy  scarf !    Dispatch  ! 
Now.  by  St.  Paul !  a  pretty  scratch  !" 

And  silent  kneeling  on  the  ground, 
She  gently  cut  the  sleeve  and  bound. 
With  careful  hands,  the  ghastly  wound. 


78  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 


CANTO    IX. 

SAID  Hubert,  "  It  is  sad  to  see 

Such  gallant  knight  overthrown, 

And  sadder  still  for  him  to  be 
Neglected  thus  and  lone. 

Forbidden,  by  the  surgeon's  care, 

The  steep  to  mount — the  chase  to  share. 

I  have  contrived  a  fashion,  wife, 

To  lead  our  guest  a  livelier  life. 

From  our  day's  sports,  essay  to  find 

Good  reasons,  thou,  to  stay  behind, 

For  such  when  wanted  woman's  mind  ? 

Remain  at  home — and  not  to  be 

Companionless — the  fair  Marie 

Request  to  keep  thee  company. 

Then  choose  the  scene — and  choose  the  hour, 


ULRIC ;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  79 

Which  sways  young  hearts  with  deepest  power. 
And  lead,  ha  !  ha  !  the  simple  pair, 
Where  coolest  breathes  the  balmiest  air, 
With  song  of  birds  where  forests  ring, 
And  limpid  streams  run  murmuring — 
Where  fountains  fall  and  branches  wave. 
And  women  sigh,  and  poets  rave, 
And,  by  my  life  !  ere  heal  this  wound, 
We'll  show  another  more  profound. 

And  thus,  while,  at  the  dawn,  abroad. 
Through  fragrant  vale,  by  dewy  road, 
Swept  on  the  distant  hunting  train, 
Or  roved  the  rest  o'er  hill  and  plain, 
Ulric,  a  pensive  prisoner,  strayed 
Within  the  park's  voluptuous  shade  ; 
And  with  such  guards  as  greet  the  sight, 
Not  often,  of  the  captive  knight. 
Nor  many  days  of  pleasure  haste, 
Ere  all  the  pain  and  danger  past. 
But  still  his  fair  companions  chide. 
Nor  trust  the  wanderer  from  their  side, 


80  ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

But  ramble  with  him,  far  and  wide. 
Now  on  the  green  hill's  graceful  swell, 
Now  through  the  laughing,  tangled  dell, 
Then  in  the  tall  oak-grove  they  rest, 
That  waves  above  the  river's  breast, 
Peaceful  as  mansions  of  the  blest, 
Where  noonday  breezes  gently  blow, 
And  the  plain  sparkles  far  below. 
There  oft  they  took 
Some  chosen  book, 
To  while  the  hours  away  ; 
Ballad  or  tale, 
Or  pastorale, 
Or  tender  roundelay. 
Of  reading  on, 
With  mellow  tone, 
Did  Ulric  never  tire, 
Till  in  the  West, 
The  sun  did  rest 
His  mighty  orb  of  fire. 
And  smiled  each  mountain's  glowing  height, 
The  earth  all  peace,  the  heaven  all  light. 


ULKIC;    OE,  THE   VOICES.  81 

And  not  in  Eden's  earliest  bow'rs, 
More  lovely  fell  night's  rapturous  hours, 
Than  in  the  Rhineland's  witching  clime. 
When  glows  the  northern  summer's  prime, 
That  is  nature's  sweetest  time. 
Scarcely  the  sun  doth  ever  set, 
But  lingers  in  the  heaven  yet, 
Playing  his  colors  warm  and  bright, 
One  delicious,  soft  twilight, 
In  the  radiant  sky  all  night, 
Till  evening's  splendor  melts  away 
In  the  silvery  break  of  another  day. 
Mingling,  perchance,  her  charming  ray 
Lifts,  slow  and  silent,  o'er  the  scene, 
Her  broad,  calm  disk,  night's  lovely  queen, — 
And  then  would  Ulric  stand  to  trace 
The  beauty  of  her  pensive  face  ; 
And  read  the  wonders,  half  unfurled 
To  fancy,  in  that  outspread  world — 
"  Do  cities  dot  its  shining  side  ? 
Do  armies  meet — do  navies  ride  ? 
The  navigator,  doth  he  stray 
4* 


82  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

On  some  remote  and  unknown  way? 

Do  nations  seek,  with  patient  toil, 

The  riches  of  that  distant  soil, 

And  wave,  upon  its  sunny  plain, 

The  scented  hay,  and  bending  grain  ? 

Do  oceans  wash,  with  stormy  roar, 

Huge  rock-bound  coasts  and  islands  o'er — 

Europe  and  Asia  vast,  and  Afric's  burning  shore  ? 

Or  rolls  an  awful  desert  on — 

Airless  and  waveless — hushed  and  lone — 

No  foot  its  arid  wastes  to  tread — 

No  murmuring  stream — no  grateful  shade  ?" 

So  flowed  the  time,  with  wondrous  fleetness, 
Unshadowed  light,  unbroken  sweetness. 
Ulric  asked  not  how  or  why, 
So  fleet,  so  sweet  it  floated  by  ; 
And  Emiline,  with  guileless  art, 
Graceful  played  her  matron's  part. 

And  when  the  wound  was  healed, 
Well  she  marked  that  Marie's  cheek 
More  than  maiden's  tongue  might  speak, 


ULRIC;    OE,  THE    VOICES.  83 

Her  artless  thought  revealed. 
But  yet — though  Ulric,  at  their  side, 

Ever  lingered  near, 
Alone,  from  morn  till  eventide, 
Through  wood,  o'er  mount,  their  steps  to  guide, 
Yet — yet — no  tale  did  he  confide 

Of  love — to  Marie's  ear. 


84  ULKIC;    OK,  THE  VOICES. 


CANTO    X. 

WEEKS  floated  by,  when  Hubert  said 
"  The  arrow  to  its  mark  hath  sped. 
I  need  not  ask,  good  Emiline, 
How  thrive  these  cooing  doves  of  thine  ; 
For  well  I  see,  a  stronger  net 
Ne'er  caught  two  tender  lovers  yet." 
Said  Emiline,  "  They  are  not  caught. 
Friends  they  may  be — but,  lovers — not." 
"  Not  lovers  ?"     «  No,  at  least,  not  he." 
"  No  lover  ?"     "  No,  and  ne'er  will  be." 
Dark  Hubert  frowned — "  No  lover  !  How  ! 
"What  foolish  thought  hath  crossed  thee  now  ? 
If  he's  no  lover,  whence  the  change 
Hath  o'er  him  come,  so  marked  and  strange? 
Why  doth  he  all  companions  shun. 


ULKIC;   OE,  THE  VOICES.  85 

And  wander  thoughtful  and  alone, 
All  ease  and  social  converse  gone  ? 
And  how  could  man  unmelted  be — 
So  close — so  frequent — with  Marie  ?" 

"  I  know  not :  'tis  not  mine  to  say 
What  freaks  the  little  god  can  play. 
But  Ulric  hath  a  heart  and  soul, 
Of  fancy  and  of  feeling  full. 
Hath  intellect  and  taste  refined — 
A  poet's  eye — a  scholar's  mind — 
A  being  of  a  higher  kind. 
Marie,  in  truth,  hath  beauty — grace — 
A  gentle  heart — a  pretty  face  ; 
But  she's  not  bright,  and  scarce  will  prove 
"Worthy — I  fear — of  Ulric's  love." 

"  Worthy  !  ha  !  ha  !  How  women  prate  ! 
Worthy  !  but  look  at  her  estate  ! 
Ulric  is  not  a  simple  fool ; 
Reason,  not  passion,  is  his  rule ; 
Life,  as  it  is,  he  knows  to  take. 


86  ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES. 

Not  he  a  whining  swain,  to  break 
His  heart,  and  into  follies  run, 
For  some  imagined  paragon, 
Whom,  after  all,  at  last  he'll  find, 
The  honeymoon  once  left  behind, 
Just  like  the  rest  of  womankind, 

By  sober  daylight  seen, 
Except  the  eyes,  which  pierced  him  through, 
May  hazel  be,  or  black,  or  blue, 

Heaven  save  the  mark  !  or  green." 

"But  husband"—  "  Nonsense  !"  Hubert  said, 
"  Thou  dost  not  see — thou  art  misled. 
My  life  upon't !  they're  groom  and  bride, 
Have  pledged  them  by  thy  very  side, 
And  smile  in  secret,  as  they  mark 
How  well  they  keep  thee  in  the  dark. 
With  me  they'll  find  less  easy  play, 
My  life  upon't !  what  plans  to-day?" 

"  Upon  the  Fischerberge,  whose  height 
Presents  the  lawn  so  smooth  and  bright, 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  87 

Where  spreads  the  oak-grove's  shadowy  screen. 
O'er  mossy  meadows  velvet  green, 

Our  guests  to  banquet  meet ; 
There,  to  enjoy  the  afternoon, 
The  landscape  wide,  the  setting  sun, 
The  evening's  breath,  the  rising  moon, 
The  breezes  cool  that  ever  play 
Throughout  the  -hottest  summer  day, 

So  delicate  and  sweet, 
And  the  delicious  linden  bough 
There  sheds  its  thickest  odors  now." 

"  'Tis  well !  'Tis  well !  and  have  a  care 
The  host  is  honored  by  the  fare ; 
And  amply  grace  a  generous  feast 
With  wine,  and  of  our  very  best. 
For  Ulric — let  him  fairly  dine, 
When  exercise,  and  air,  and  wine, 
The  ardent  blood  in  movement  set, 
And  make  the  wisest  one  forget 
To  check  the  thought  that,  half  supprest. 
Escapes  the  careless — guarded  breast, 


88  ULRIC ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Choose  thou  a  time,  and  idly  rove 
With  him — alone — to  some  far  grove, 
There  hold  him — as  by  chance — apart, 
And  probe  the  secret  of  his  heart. 
From  thee  he  will  not  hide  his  thought. 
Loves  he  Marie — or  loves  he  not?" 

"  But  husband,  is  it  proper  task, 
For  me,  with  artless  friendship's  mask, 
In>  o  his  secret  heart  to  pry, 
An  1  play  the  traitor  and  the  spy  ?" 

"  Tush  !  Tush  !  How  often  and  how  long 
Will  women  prate  of  right  and  wrong! 
Do  as  thou'rt  bid  !     The  fault  be  mine  ! 
And  mark  me  one  thing,  Emiline  ! 
Whisper  not  thou  to  Ulric's  mind, 
Of  pretty  Marie  ought  unkind. 
He  values  thy  opinion  there, 
And  might  be  swayed — so  have  a  care  !" 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  my  husband  dear, 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  89 

Thy  anxious  point  to  gain ; 
But  yet,  I  must  confess,  I  fear 
There  is  no  great  attraction  here. 
Thou  chasest  now  too  fleet  a  deer  ! 

And  all  will  be  in  vain  !" 


90  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 


CANTO    XI. 

A  MERRY  golden  day  was  that, 
To  more  than  one  at  Rudolstadt. 
Graceful  dame  and  courtly  knight 
Wandered  through  those  valleys  bright, 
While  Emiline  and  Marie  led, 
Over  hill  and  over  mead, 
The  happy  Ulric.     Who  so  blest? 
Wherefore  sighed  his  heaving  breast  ? 
Why  did  he  pause  and  answer  not, 
But  listen,  lost  in  silent  thought  ? 
Till  his  companions  sportive  came 
To  cheer  his  gloom — his  hand  to  claim, 
Rousing  him  from  his  reverie  deep, 
To  cross  the  bridge,  to  mount  the  steep. 
What  secret  cares  his  mind  enthrall? 


ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  91 

What  shadows  o'er  his  forehead  fall  ? 

What  voices  faint  and  fainter  call  ? 

So  sweetly  far,  so  softly  clear, 

They  scarcely  reach  his  doubtful  ear, 

In  half  aerial  tones  that  seem 

Part  of  a  forgotten  dream. 

"  Listen  !  Listen  !"  now  the  strain 

Clearly  floats  and  floats  again, 

Now  with  the  clouds  it  seems  to  sail, 

Now  dies  upon  the  passing  gale. 

"  When  the  days  of  thy  life 

Have  a  joy  so  complete, 
Contentment  so  perfect, 

And  rapture  so  sweet. 
Then  tremble,  0  mortal ! 

For  oft  they  are  given 
By  the  Dark  One  of  Earth 

But  to  lure  thee  from  heav'n. 
In  the  world  of  pure  spirits 

Awaits  thee  such  bliss, 
But  the  rash  hand  may  perish 


92  ULKIC  ;    OB,  THE  VOICES. 

That  grasps  it  in  this. 
Oh  listen  !  oh  listen  ! 

Thy  mettlesome  steed 
Neighs  high  in  the  stall. 

He  will  bear  thee  with  speed. 
Back  !  back  '  for  a  danger 

Thy  foot-path  hangs  o'er. 
Fly !  fly  !  or  we  leave  thee, 

And  warn  thee  no  more. 
Oh  listen  !  oh  listen  !" — 

"  Ye  voices,  away  ! 
Nor  darken  my  bright  path 

With  shadows  to-day. 
I  will  taste  thee,  oh  happiness ! 

Come  what,  come  may." 

"  Oh,  listen  !— oh.  list — " 
But  no  longer  they  call ; 

Gone — lost — in  the  dash 
Of  the  far  waterfall ; 

In  the  play  of  the  wind 
The  sweet  branches  among, 


ULEIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

In  the  hum  of  the  bee, 

And  the  nightingale's  song. 

'Twere  hard  to  paint  the  beauteous  way 
That  traced  their  steps  that  happy  day. 
Through  earth's  divinest  scenes  it  lay. 
Now  graceful,  in  the  bending  boat, 
Along  the  river's  breast  they  float. 
Then  winding,  mount  the  broken  height, 
Where  bursts  upon  their  dazzled  sight 
The  azure  landscape,  steeped  in  light. 
And  then,  with  glowing  cheek,  they  trod 
O'er  many  a  meadow,  bright  and  broad, 

By  gloomy  gorge  and  dell, 
Where  wondrous  forms  of  nature  rise, 
To  touch  the  soul  and  charm  the  eyes, 
With  breathless  awe  and  sweet  surprise, 

Too  fair  for  tongue  to  tell. 

And  ever,  with  her  guileless  art, 
Led  Emiline  the  two  apart ; 
And  thus  alone 


94  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Together  thrown, 
Long  careless  hours  they  rove, 

And  now  explore 

The  wave-worn  shore. 
And  now  the  sombre  grove. 

Sometimes  they  tread 

The  mossy  bed 
Of  the  deep  and  solemn  wood, 

Through  hushed  glades,  where 

They  scarcely  dare 
Disturb  the  solitude. 

And  then,  where  rolled 

The  torrent  cold, 
With  furious  flashing  flow, 

And  leaped  in  light, 

From  its  dripping  height, 
To  its  rocky  bed  below, 
Still  joyous  on  they  go, 
The  loneliest,  loveliest  footpaths  through. 
And  oh  !  such  hours  of  sweetness  flew, 

O'er  earthly  wanderer  never 
A  bliss  too  deep — unknown  before. 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  95 

Content  were  Ulric,  o'er  and  o'er, 
That  day,  to  live  for  ever. 

Was  on  him  cast  what  secret  spell, 
To  light  his  eye — his  breast  to  swell  I 
Each  fleeting  hour  with  joy  to  wing. 
To  steep  in  bliss  each  common  thing  ? 
A  new  enchantment  filled  the  wood, 
Inspired  each  tender  solitude  ; 
A  heavenly  air  of  softness  threw 
O'er  each  bright  lawn  and  gleaming  view. 
Gave  each  sweet  vale  a  grace  so  rare, 
Made  each  rich  hill  so  wondrous  fair, 
And  floated  in  the  very  air  ! 


96  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 


CANTO    XII. 

AT  length  the  banquet.     It  was  spread, 
Voluptuous,  in  the  cooling  shade  ; 
And  well  had  Emiline  obeyed 

Her  generous  lord's  behest. 
The  dullest  appetite  might  wake, 
The  sharpest,  ample  pleasure  take 

At  such  a  noble  feast. 
And  not  a  rosy  angel  there 
But  was  content,  its  charm  to  share, 

A  mortal  plain  to  be. 
Quick  passed  the  sparkling  goblet  round. 
With  mingling  mirth  the  woods  resound, 
And  ne'er  those  ancient  oaks  astound 

Such  bursts  of  revelry. 
And  hearty  laughter,  jest,  and  song, 


ULEIC;    OK,  THE  VOICES.  97 

The  brightly  rolling  hours  prolong. 

And  now,  at  last, 

Concludes  the  feast. 
And  o'er  the  grassy  ground, 

By  fancy  led, 

In  chance  groups  stray'd 
The  idle  guests  around. 
Her  lord  a  secret  gesture  made 
To  Emiline,  who  timid  laid 

In  Ulric's  arm  her  own  ; 
And  on  they  wandered,  till  they  stood 
Within  a  breathless  solitude, 
Apart,  upon  the  mountain's  brow, 
O'erlooking  all  the  vale  below, 

In  a  thick  grove  alone. 

"  Is  it  not  lovely  ?     Didst  thou  e'er, 
Ulric,  behold  a  scene  so  fair  ?" 

"  I  think,  when,  life's  dull  fetters  riv'n, 
The  freed  soul  stands  at  last  in  heav'n, 
5 


98  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

'Twill  gaze,  in  wonder  and  in  bliss, 

Upon  some  vision,  such  as  this. 

Oh,  Emiline  !  hast  never  pined 

To  leave  the  weary  world  behind  ? 

To  pass,  at  length,  the  gates  of  death — 

Sin,  doubt,  temptation  far  beneath  ?" 

"  So  melancholy  at  our  feast? 
Such  fancies  in  a  soldier's  breast  ?" 

"  In  truth,  I  scarcely  know  wherefore 
Sadness  should  sweep  my  bosom  o'er ; 
But  dost  thou  never,  Emiline, 
Feel  some  cold  shadow  steal  o'er  thine?' 

<•  No,  not  in  such  a  scene  as  this. 
My  soul  is  calmed  to  perfect  bliss, 
As  if  by  music — " 

"  Well  expressed  ! 
As  if  by  music  !  so  my  breast 
Has  £e}t  enchanting  nature's  pow'r, 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  99 

Like  music,  many  a  lonely  hour. 
The  vine-clad  shore,  the  hollow  dell — 
The  spotless  meadow's  tender  swell, 
The  clouds  in  silver  shapes  that  roll, 
Steal  like  soft  anthems  o'er  the  soul ; 
The  massive  rocks,  the  ample  ground, 
Yield  up  their  deeper  tones  around  ; 
The  broken  cliff,  the  bending  plain, 
The  sweeps  of  clover  and  of  grain — 
Each  adds  to  each  its  mingling  strain. 
From  each  a  sweet  impression  sent, 
As  from  a  breathing  instrument. 
All  touch  the  spirit,  as  the  eyes, 
A  blending  of  the  earth  and  skies 
In  soul-subduing  harmonies." 

"  How  oft  I  feel — how  oft  I  seek, 
My  feelings,  as  with  thee  to  speak, 
Ulric  !     It  is  a  joy  to  find 
Communion  with  another  mind. 
Through  wood  and  vale  alone  I  range, 
And  see  all  beautiful  and  strange. 


100  ULEIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

At  every  step  behold,  unfurled, 

Some  shadowing  of  a  lovelier  world. 

The  forms  of  things — what  tongue  can  trace 

Of  each,  th'  unutterable  grace  ? 

And  then  the  color — hast  thou  not 

Observed  how  steeped  each  untrod  spot 

In  some  bright  hue,  or  heavenly  stain, 

That  makes  one  feel  description  vain  ? 

'Tis  exquisite  !     We  cannot  pass 

A  tiny  stone  or  blade  of  grass, 

Rocks,  woods,  streams,  frowning  crags  that  lean, 

Dark,  o'er  the  valley's  velvet  green, 

Or  mossy  banks,  or  trunks,  earth-bound, 

Of  time-worn  trees  that  hug  the  ground — 

Not  toned,  as  if  some  painter's  power 

Had  labored  on  them  many  an  hour. 

Spirit  of  radiance  !  every  where, 

It  wanders  through  the  very  air, 

And  pours  around  its  treasures  rare. 

Touches  with  many  a  nameless  hue 

The  sunny  cloud,  the  conclave  blue, 

Melts  the  rough  rocks — makes  soft  the  hills — 


ULRIC  ;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  101 

All  nature  with  enchantment  fills." 

"  'Tis  wonderful,  dear  Emiline, 
In  what  clear  forms  of  beauty,  shine, 
Unheeded,  earth,  and  air,  and  sky, 
But  by  some  poet's  raptured  eye. 
The  laborer,  on  his  daily  way, 
Sees  not  what  beams  of  glory  stray 
Across  his  path.     The  pilgrim's  feet 
Toil  weary  on,  o'er  meadows  sweet, 
By  hill,  through  vale,  at  morn,  at  even, 
Yet  marks  he  not  what  rays  from  heaven 
Fall  every  where,  above,  around, 
Gild  his  tired  form,  inspire  the  ground, 
And  teach  him,  if  he  will  but  hear, 
'  Look  up  ! — faint  not,  for  I  am  near.'  " 

"  And,  Ulric,  thou  whose  bosom  feels 
So  well  what  nature's  hand  reveals, 
See — canst  thou  watch  that  green,  below, 
Melt  to  the  soft  aerial  blue, 
Till  where  the  river  gleams  between, 


102  ULRIC;    OK,  THE  VOICES. 

Those  lovely  mountains  close  the  scene ; 
Canst  thou  behold  a  sight  so  fair — 
An  azure  dream,  half  earth,  half  air — 
And  yield  to  sorrow  or  to  care  ?" 

"  Yes !  for  their  high  and  rocky  forms 
Guard  not  the  vale  from  passion's  storms. 
Nor  make  its  paths  so  seeming  sweet. 
From  sin  and  shame  a  safe  retreat !" 

"  Sin  !  shame  !  what  mean'st  thou?     Tell  me  why, 
So  oft,  to-day,  I  mark  thee  sigh  ? 
Art  thou  unhappy  ?     Let  me  share, 
If  pains  thy  heart  some  secret  care  !" 

With  arms  upon  his  bosom  crossed, 
Still  Ulric  stood,  in  silence  lost. 

"  Then  listen,  Sir  !     Thy  uncle  says, 
Too  long  endure  thy  lonely  days; 
Now  thou  must  marry.     Yes !  a  wife 
Must  win  thee  to  a  better  life." 


ULEIC  ;    OE,  THE  VOICES.  103 

"I?     Marry?" 

"  Marry.     Even  thou  ! 
Nay,  nay,  unbend  thy  frowning  brow ; 
That  young,  fair  girl — the  good  Marie, 
Is  it  a  secret  then  to  thee  ? 
If,  in  her  soft  and  guileless  breast, 
She  hither  brought  a  heart  at  rest, 
She  ne'er,  I've  seen  it  many  a  day, 
Will  carry  such  a  one  away !" 

"  I  understand  thee,  Emiline, 
And  perfect  frankness,  such  as  thine, 
Frankness  begets,  deserves  it  too ; 
I've  heard  thy  words,  impatient,  through. 
Name  not  again  that  subject  ever ; 
I  never  mean  to  marry — never. 

Mark  thou  my  purpose  well ! 
There  is  not  one  thing  in  the  range 
Of  possibility,  so  strange. 

And  so  impossible." 


104  ULEIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

"  Impossible  !  men  often  swear, 
Knowing  their  words  all  idle  air ; 
Sometimes  with  changeful  fancies,  too, 
Believe  themselves  what  is  not  true." 

"  I  trifle  not — not  now — with  thee, 
I  do  not  love  the  fair  Marie. 
From  such  a  stupid  destiny 

Good  Heaven,  my  bosom  shield ! 
I  seek  to  spend  life's  rolling  hours, 
Not  mid  soft  books  and  summer  bow'rs, 
Toying  with  love's  quick  fading  flow'rs, 

But  on  the  battle-field- 
There  my  poor  star,  unhonored  yet, 
Shall  brightly  mount  or  briefly  set — " 

"  Shall  briefly  set !  what  stirs  thy  brow  1 
What  gloomy  thought  disturbs  thee  now  ? 
We  should  be  willing,  true,  to  die, 
But  not  seek  death.     That  Being  high, 
Who  gave  our  life — He  doth  require 
To  Him  should  bend  each  deep  desire ; 
A  cheerful  heart,  an  humble  mood, 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE    VOICES.  105 

Love,  patience,  faith,  and  gratitude. 
Then  need  we,  in  the  world's  wild  strife, 
Not  shrink  from  either  death  or  life." 

"  Thou,  Emiline,  art  happy  !" 

«  Well ! 

Content  in  every  breast  should  dwell. 
Accept,  each  one,  his  different  lot, 
With  humble  trust,  and  murmur  not. 
But,  TJlric,  look  !  his  journey  done, 
How  grandly  sinks  the  setting  sun — 
All  nature  waits  before  his  throne  ! 
And  earth  and  heaven,  adoring,  tell 
Their  sorrow  at  his  last  farewell !" 

"  Yet  I  have  marked,  dear  Emiline  ! 
That  his  departing  splendors  shine, 
Most  beautiful,  not  in  the  west, 
Where  sinks  the  fiery  god  to  rest ; 
Not  on  the  field,  or  mountain  height, 
Where  latest  gleams  his  rosy  light ; 


110  ULRIC  ;    OK,  THE  VOICES. 

Nor  on  the  lake — nor  in  the  sky. 

Where  clouds,  like  happy  islands,  lie, 

Tinted  with  many  a  heavenly  die  ; 

But  watch  the  sunset's  fading  ray, 

In  the  thick  forest's  darkened  way. 

Across  its  broad,  uneven  floor, 

Already  see  his  radiance  pour, 

In  long  and  level  lines,  that  glow 

With  burning  splendor,  as  they  flow 

The  woods  hushed  haunts  and  columns  through, 

Where,  'mid  the  shadows,  shine,  revealed, 

Secrets,  from  noon's  bright  eye  concealed." 

:  Oh,"  murmured  Emiline,  "  in  heav'n, 
Could  a  more  lovely  hour  be  giv'n?" 

"  And  mark,  o'er  every  common  thing, 
What  glory  nature  knows  to  fling  ! 
This  withered  leaf — a  jewel  rare — 
Instinct  with  light,  and  radiant  air  ; 
And,  look  !  in  broken  spots  around, 
The  lustrous  trees,  the  burning  ground, 


ULRIC;    OK,  THE  VOICES.  10? 

Gleam,  crimson-red,  as  dome  and  spire, 
In  cities  roused  by  midnight  fire  !" 

"  And  how  yon  stream,  that  murmurs  by, 
Chimes  with  the  cricket's  silver  cry  ! 
And  how  the  moon,  ere  falls  night's  shroud, 
Hangs  lightly  o'er  yon  silver  cloud  !" 

"  The  scene  is  fair.     It  is  divine. 
Thou  lovest  nature,  Emiline !" 

"  Each  moment  more — each  passing  year — 
It  seems  more  holy  and  more  clear  ; 
And  newer,  higher  meaning  lies 
In  all  chance  things  that  meet  the  eyes. 
Each  airy  cloud,  each  simple  flow'r, 
That  blooms  and  passes  in  an  hour, 
To  the  attentive  spirit  brings 
Plain  hints  and  bright  foreshadowings, 
Truths  ever  as  we  gaze  less  dim, 
Voices  and  messages  from  Him. 
No  leaf  so  small  but  something  shows — 


108  ULRIC ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Here  at  my  feet  behold  this  rose, 
In  its  moist  cheek  what  beauty  glows ! 
To  passion,  shines  the  world  thus  fair, 
But  lo  !  what  sharp  thorns  menace  there! 
What  silent  voice  that  cries,  c  Beware  ! 
Nor  venture  on  forbidden  ground, 
With  piercing  dangers  guarded  round  ! 
Behold  the  flow'r  with  sweetness  fraught. 
Inhale — enjoy,  but — pluck  it  not !' 
By  chance,  was  such  a  lesson  sent  ? 
Is  this  sweet  rose  an  accident?"- 

"  Why,  thou  art  full  of  learned  lore  ! 
I  never  knew  thee  thus  before  ! 
A  lovely  girl,  dear  Emiline  ! 
I  well  remember  how,  with  mine, 
Thy  sportive  steps  have  often  strayed 
By  murmuring  brook,  in  forest  shade, 
But  hear  my  shamed  lips  confess 
My  blind  and  boyish  thoughtlessness. 
I  deemed  thee  then  as  light  as  fair — 
For  so  I  deemed  all  women  were ; 


ULKIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  109 

Far  fonder  of  the  court  and  ball, 
And  beauty's  power,  and  pleasure's  call, 
Than  sylvan  haunt,  in  silent  wood, 
And  nature's  thoughtful  solitude." 

"  Know'st  thou  this  little  plant  ?"  she  said, 
And,  from  the  moss's  velvet  bed, 
Picked  a  small  azure  flow'ret,  and 
Gave  careless  into  Ulric's  hand. 

"  Its  name,"  he  said,  "  I  never  knew — " 

"  Yet  in  its  modest  leaves  of  blue, 
Lies  couched  a  pretty  secret  too, 
As  many  a  country  swain  can  prove, 

'  The  more  I  see — the  more  Hove}  " 

A  short  pause  followed,  broken  by, 
From  Ulric's  breast,  a  deep-drawn  sigh. 
When  started  Emiline  and  said, 
"  But  look  !  how  fast  the  light  doth  fade ! 
And  falls  the  evening's  dewy  shade, 


106  ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

On  all  but  yonder  broken  height, 

I  fear  me,  it  is  very  late — 

And  see  our  guests,  already  gone, 

Yon  distant  steep  are  winding  down. 

On  their  way  homeward  through  the  pass 

That  leads  around  the  mountain's  base. 

"  'Tis  true  !  and  vain  our  feet  to  tire, 
A  horse's  fleetness  we  require 
To  reach  them  now — unless  thou  dare 
Descend  this  shorter  way — " 

"  What,  there  ? 
Oh,  'tis  too  steep — too  high — indeed  !" 

"  Nay,  nay,  let  me  thy  footsteps  lead. 
Trust  me  thine  arm— nay,  do  not  fear  ! 
Thou  shalt  not  fall  while  I  am  here  ; 
Our  presence  else  the  rest  will  miss." 

She  paused,  and  placed  her  arm  in  his  ; 

And  thus  supporting  her,  they  went, 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  Ill 

All  careful  down  the  slope  descent : 
How  thrilled  his  heart  with  deep  content. 

But  now,  below  assembled,  meet 
The  rest,  to  watch  the  merry  feat. 
Among  them  Hubert,  in  a  mood 
Of  mirth  unwonted,  laughing  stood. 
In  order  not  to  dull  the  feast, 
In  wine  he  shamed  the  merriest  guest. 
And  lighter  grew,  as  more  he  drank, 
His  open  manners,  jovial,  frank, 
Simple  and  honest,  generous,  true, 
Though  oft,  the  courtier  piercing  through, 
The  guests  amuse,  perchance  amaze. 
The  rougher  soldier's  noisier  ways. 

When  Emiline  descended  down, 
At  length  stood  fairly  on  the  lawn. 
Hubert,  half  earnest  and  half  jest, 
Folded  her  sweet  form  to  his  breast, 
And,  struck  with  new  surprise, 
To  mark  the  color  and  the  light, 


112  ULKIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

That  floated  o'er  her  cheek  so  bright, 

And  sparkled  in  her  eyes, 
He  said  :  "  Hey  dey  !  wife  !  what  is  this  ? 
Now,  by  St.  Paul !  I'll  have  a  kiss." 

With  heightened  cheek — averted  eye, 
From  his  mad  humor  bent  to  fly, 

She  struggled,  but  in  vain  ; 
And  the  old  knight,  mid  many  a  peal, 
Full  on  her  lips  his  pledge  did  seal, 
And  such  a  cordial  smack  did  steal, 

That  the  wood  rang  again. 

Quick  starting;  Ulric  backward  sprung, 

As  sudden  by  a  serpent  stung, 

And  stood,  unmoving  and  apart. 

Oh  Death !  what  quivered  in  his  heart ! 

The  merry  revellers  passed  on, 
And,  gayly  disappearing  down 
A  hollow  glen,  before  that  lay, 
Their  voices,  as  they  onward  stray, 


ULEIC;    OK,  THE  VOICES.  113 

Taint  in  the  wood  retreat,  and  die,  at  length,  away. 

Still  Ulric,  cold  and  breathless,  stood, 
Stunned,  in  that  noiseless  solitude, 
Alone — his  hand  upon  his  brow — 
Oh  Hell !  receive  thy  vassal  now  ! 
At  length  he  kneeled  at  Satan's  shrine, 
The  serpent  round  his  heart  did  twine, 
He  loved  the  Lady  Emiline ! 

He  raised  his  head  when — dark  and  tall — 
He  saw  an  uncouth  shadow  fall, 
And  slowly  glide  upon  the  ground. 
He  looked  above — below — around, 
Yet  still  it  passed  before  his  eyes, 
As  one  who  caught  by  quick  surprise, 
Off — off — with  stealthy  footsteps  flies. 
While  a  faint  warning,  from  the  air, 
Bewailed,  "  Lost  one  !  Despair  !  Despair  !" 

A  moment,  rooted  to  the  spot, 
He  stood.     Yet — yet,  he  heeded  not, 
Of  heaven  the  voice — of  hell,  the  sign, 
But  murmured,  "  oh  sweet  Emiline  !" 


114:  ULRIC  ;   OR,  THE  VOICES. 


CANTO    XIII. 

THAT  night  there  was  a  merry  dance 

At  the  chateau ; 
And  ne'er  more  bright  beamed  beauty's  glance 

Or  pleasure's  flow. 
All  heedless  moved  those  mirthful  feet 

To  music's  swell, 
And  sunny  hearts  all  careless  beat, 

And  peaceable, 
As  hope  upon  the  earth  did  stream, 

Without  alloy, 
And  life  were  one  enchanted  dream 

Of  mirth  and  joy. 

And  stealing  from  the  revel  loud, 
Into  the  air, 


ULEIC;    OK,  THE  VOICES.  115 

Far  from  the  music  and  the  crowd, 

Where  shadowy  groves  their  steps  enshroud, 

Strolled  many  a  pair, 
And  may  they,  what  that  hour  they  vowed, 

Never  forswear. 


one  without  companion  roves, 

Pensive  and  slow  ; 
And  none  beholds,  in  those  thick  groves, 

Her  bosom's  throe. 
Hopes,  feelings,  strangely  soft  —  intrude, 

Unknown  before. 

And  wandering  to  the  distant  wood, 
Her  thoughts,  each  beauteous  solitude 

Still,  still  explore. 
And  a  bright  form  is  ever  near, 

Where'er  they  stroll  ; 
And  a  rich  voice,  as  sweet  and  clear 
As  coming  from  a  higher  sphere, 
Falls  ever  on  her  listening  ear, 

And  on  her  soul. 


116  ULEIC  ;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

She  fixes  now  upon  the  sky 

Her  silent  gaze, 

And  watches,  with  an  envious  sigh. 
The  peaceful  stars  pursue  on  high 

Their  quiet  ways. 
Her  glances  earthward  now  survey 

The  moonlight's  stream, 
Where,  in  th'  enchanting  landscape,  lay 
Soft  memories  of  that  sweet  day, 

As  in  a  dream. 

Oh  !  wherefore  dost  thou,  from  the  throng, 

So  sadly  glide  ? 
And  what  dark  shadow  steals  along, 

Close  at  thy  side  ? 
Thou  knowest  not — thou  dreamest  not 

Oh  pure  one  !  why 
Beats  with  such  warm  unwonted  thought 

Thy  heart  so  high. 
But  lo  !  thy  hands  in  earnest  prayer 

Together  join, 
God  save  thee  from  the  tempter's  snare, 

Oh  Emiline ! 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  117 


CANTO    XIV. 

I 

YET  Ulric  lingered  on  the  hills. 
What  unknown  pain  his  bosom  fills, 
To  mark  that  golden,  blissful  day, 
From  cloud  and  hill  top  fade  away, 
Each  radiant  stream,  each  hue  depart, 
Like  hope  and  virtue  from  his  heart. 
And  back  and  forth  with  many  a  sigh, 
Till  midnight  stars  ascend  the  sky, 
Confounded  and  amazed  he  roved. 
The  die  was  cast — he  loved — he  loved. 
And,  for  her  lightest  word,  had  given 
His  peace  on  earth — his  hope  in  heaven. 

And  as  he  bent  his  fevered  tread 

To  those  wild  spots  where  she  had  led, 


118  ULRIC;    OB,  THE  VOICES. 

To  those  dear  haunts  remembered  well. 
From  his  hot  lips  in  murmurs  fell 
Tumultuous  passions,  eddying  fears, 
And  burning  hope  the  breast  that  tears. 

"  I  knew  it ! — From  the  very  first 
A  secret  love  her  bosom  nurst — 
She  loves  me — at  the  royal  ball, 
I  marked  her  soft  eyes'  modest  fall. 
And  when  I  met  her  on  the  hill, 
That  tender  same  expression  still. 
Oh  grassy  bank  !  where  once  she  knelt, 
What  heaven  on  thee,  my  bosom  felt ! 
When  o'er  my  wound  the  band  she  drew, 
And  her  cool  fingers  thrilled  me  through  ! 
Oh  steep — descending,  hallowed  hill ! 
My  blissful  senses  tremble  still, 
With  those  sensations,  new  and  sweet, 
When  pressed  thy  moss  our  mingling  feet. 
She  loves  me  not — blind  senseless  fool ! 
No  thought  of  love  disturbs  her  soul. 
With  friendship  beats  her  heart  alone? — 


ULRIC;    OK,  THE  VOICES.  119 

Mine  deems  she  guileless  as  her  own  ? 

Friendship  !  oh  peaceful  joy  !  no  more 

Can  shine  thy  light  my  bosom  o'er. 

Beings  there  are  who  ne'er  can  know, 

Together,  friendship's  tranquil  flow. 

Or  cold  and  distant  they  must  be, 

Or  linked  in  love's  idolatry. 

By  heaven  !  she  loves  !  each  nameless  grace. 

Each  transient  color  on  her  face, 

Each  look — each  shrinking  gesture  proves, 

Each  tender,  trembling  word — she  loves." 

Thus  racked  with  all  the  lover's  pains, 
A  lofty  hill  abrupt  he  gains, 
Commanding  from  its  wooded  height 
Old  Rudolstadt  with  blazing  light. 
And  softly  swelling  on  the  breeze 
Came  up  the  music  through  the  trees, 
Mingling  with  wafts  from  heaps  that  lay, 
Thick  scattered  round,  of  new-mown  hay. 

"  Oh  Emiline,  why  did  I  not 


120  ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

Kneel  at  thy  feet? 
There,  in  that  hushed  and  lonely  spot, 

That  moment  sweet, 
Then,  when  thou  gav'st  thy  little  flow'r, 

My  love  confess  ? 
And  yield  all  heaven  for  that  one  hour 

Of  happiness? 
Weak  doubts  away !  this  idle  fear 

I  will  not  bear. 
My  burning  passion  she  shall  hear, 

And  my  despair. 
Yes,  I  will  hold  that  struggling  hand 

This  night  in  mine. 
Oh  what  for  me  is  Heaven's  command, 

ToEmiline?" 

And  down  the  height  he  swiftly  strode, 
A  moment  at  the  gateway  stood, 
To  listen  to  a  voice  that  still 
Back  called  him  clearly  from  the  hill, 
But  called  in  vain — and  of  the  Schloss 
The  portal  wide  he  scarce  did  cross, 


ULKIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  121 

And  trod  the  entering  chamber  high, 
When  caught  him  Hubert's  jesting  eye. 

"  Ha !  By  the  mass  !  And  there  thou  art  ! 
Where  hast  thou  been  ?  And  why  didst  part 
So  early  from  our  laughing  crew  ? 
St.  Mary  !  pale  and  haggard  too, 
As  Pilgrim  just  from  Holy  Land  ! 
And  dark  thy  brow  and  hot  thy  hand ! 
What  is  the  matter,  Ulric?  tell ! 
Thou  art  unhappy,  or  unwell." 

"  Unhappy  !     From  our  party  gay 
I  went,  because  I  lost  my  way. 
Confound  your  winding  hills,  I  say  ! 
Like  lead  I  drag  my  heavy  feet ; 
Am  fevered,  too,  with  thirst  and  heat !" 

"  Thirst !  Ha  !  a  malady,  be  sure, 
At  Rudolstadt,  we  know  to  cure  ! 
Ho.  wine  here !" 

Deep  and  long  the  draught 

6 


122  ULKIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

That  Hubert  poured  and  Ulric  quaffed. 

"  Again  !"     He  quaffed  it.     And  again  ! 
Till  foamed  his  blood  and  flashed  his  brain, 
And  unabashed  once  more  his  glance. 

"  So  !     Bravo  !  now  wilt  join  the  dance?" 

"  Aye,  that  I  will,  my  master  fair, 
And  match  me  with  the  merriest  there." 

And  now  the  gallant  proud  and  brave, 
A  moment  to  his  toilette  gave, 
And  started  with  amaze  to  pass, 
His  image  gleaming  in  the  glass. 
Was  it  the  exercise — was  it  the  wine — 
Was  it  the  thought  of  Emiline — 
Which  lent  his  form  and  gaze,  that  hour, 
Such  lofty  grace,  such  magic  power  ? 

And  so  resolved,  the  festive  throng 
He  sought,  and  slowly  moved  along, 

With  careless  smile  and  jest. 
And  little  did  his  open  brow 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  123 

The  guilty  hopes  and  fears  avow, 

That  filled  his  beating  breast. 
And  many  a  joyous  graceful  word, 
With  heart  unmoved  that  night  he  heard, 

Although  from  lips  divine. 
Each  instant  thrilled  his  soul  to  meet 
That  form  so  fair,  that  voice  so  sweet, 
"With  fevered  glance  and  breathless — yet 

No  Lady  Emiline. 
Vainly  he  sought  her  every  where  ; 
All  sick  with  rapture  and  despair  : 
When  lo  !  an  open  window  there, 
Contrasts  the  ball-room's  dazzling  blaze, 
With  the  pale  moon's  ethereal  rays, 

A  sea  of  azure  light ; 
And  many  of  the  company, 
Beneath  that  silent  starry  sky, 
Wandered  in  groups  of  two  and  three. 

Touched  by  the  witching  night. 
And  now  he  sought  each  distant  glade, 
S  ecret  as  if  for  lovers  made  ; 

"  Oh  be  this  blest  hour  given. 


124  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Once  more — but  once — with  her  to  rove — 
Alone — and  tell  my  fatal  love — 

Aye,  though  the  price  be  heaven." 

And  strange  the  thoughts  that  o'er  him  came, 
Despair  and  triumph — hope  and  shame. 
That  his  wild  steps  to  ruin  flew, 
Too  plain  he  felt — too  well  he  knew — 
But  such  a  path  of  rapture  through, 
So  tempting  soft — so  heavenly  sweet, 
He  could  not  stay  his  winged  feet. 

On,  on  he  roved,  with  wild  desire  j 
His  blood  was  warm,  his  brain  on  fire  ; 
Hasted  with  many  a  murmur  deep 
Through  grove  arid  glade,  by  wood  and  steep. 

Oh  Ulric  !  Ulric  !  murmur  not 
That  each  enchanting,  lonely  spot, 

Thou  seek'st  in  vain. 
To  guard  thy  steps,  angels  of  light, 
Took  careful  heed  ye  should,  that  night, 

Not  meet  again. 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  125 


CANTO  XV. 

THE  fete  was  o'er,  the  revellers  gone, 
And,  broad  and  high,  the  spotted  moon 
Her  calm  and  noiseless  journey  still 
Held  on,  alike  o'er  good  and  ill ; 
And  melted  half,  and  half  revealed, 
Each  silver  rock  and  gleaming  field, 
Each  sloping  wood  and  mountain  height. 
And  vale  half  lost  in  azure  light. 

Oh  gentle  orb  !  what  different  eyes 
Watch  thy  hushed  progress  thro'  the  skies  ! 
Behind  his  dungeon's  silvered  bars, 
The  captive  views,  amid  the  stars, 
The  infinite  concave  that  throng, 
Thy  shape  of  wonder  float  along. 


126  ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES. 

Feels,  o'er  his  heart,  thy  softness  break, 
And  gild  the  tear  upon  his  cheek. 
O'er  the  lone  pilgrim's  weary  way, 
Thy  presence  sheds  a  tenderer  day, 
Who  pauses  oft  to  mark  thee  ride, 
Above  the  mountains  at  his  side, 
Or  plunge  into  the  silent  shroud, 
That  veils  thy  orb,  of  some  thick  cloud. 
Then  issue  forth,  and  pour  again 
Thy  splendor  o'er  the  darkened  plain. 
The  murderer,  with  guilt  oppressed. 
Folds  his  rough  arms  upon  his  breast, 
Touched  by  thy  soft  and  solemn  power, 
Thinks  of  God's  word,  and  death's  dark  hour, 
And  wishes  that  his  soul  might  be, 
Once  more,  bright,  calm,  and  pure  like  thcc. 

And  the  poor  lover,  on  thy  face, 
Gazed,  from  a  statue's  silent  base, 
And  thought,  with  wild  despairing  mien, 
Of  all  that  was,  and  might  have  been. 


ULKIC  ;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  127 

"  Oh  woe  is  me  !"  he  lowly  said, 

"  What  mighty  curse  is  on  my  head  ! 

From  my  foul  hand  she  lies  as  far 

As  yonder  pure  unconscious  star. 

She  sleeps,  and  tranquil  virtue  throws. 

Round  her  bright  form  a  sweet  repose. 

Oh  Innocence  !  thy  robes  of  snow, 

Still  o'er  thy  fairest  treasure  throw. 

My  madness  may  she  never  kn  AV  !" 

And  starting,  stung,  he  turned  away, 
With  black  remorse  and  shame  to  stray 
Once  more  through  each  beloved  scene. 
Where  that  blessed  day  her  feet  had  been. 
And  as  he  trod,  his  wild  despair 
Thus  uttered  to  the  midnight  air — 

"  How  I  have  laughed  at  love  !     What  scorn 
Have  cast  upon  the  wretch  forlorn. 

Caught  in  his  boyish  bower. 
What  wonder  and  what  ridicule 
Have  wasted  on  the  simple  fool. 


128  ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

Who  gives  his  manly  self  control, 
Perhaps  his  country  or  his  soul, 

To  woman's  wayward  power. 
Yet  now,  oh  Emiline !"  he  said, 
Upon  his  bosom  sank  his  head, 

He  heaved  a  sigh  profound ; 
In  tears  the  grief  he  could  not  speak, 
Kolled  down  the  unmanned  soldier's  cheek, 

And  dropped  upon  the  ground. 

"  How  many  a  vacant  time,  while  yet 
A  careless  student,  I  have  met 
And  talked  and  danced  with  Emiline  ! 
Aye  !  had  her  sweet  hand  clasped  in  mine, 
With  frank  adieu  or  friendly  greeting, 
At  parting  light,  or  merry  meeting  ! 
How  oft,  by  chance  together  brought, 
Without  a  care,  without  a  thought, 

We've  wandered  with  each  other, 
And  laughing  fled  the  summer  shower, 
To  some  thick  wood  or  tangled  bower, 
Aye,  roved  in  moonlight's  loveliest  hour, 


ULRIC;    OB,  THE   VOICES.  129 

And  never  dreamed  there  was  a  power, 
That  o'er  our  peaceful  hearts  could  throw 
A  softer  shade,  a  livelier  glow, 
Than  through  the  tranquil  veins  might  flow, 

Of  sister  and  of  brother  ! 
Yet  now,  whene'er  her  eyes,  by  chance, 
Meet  mine,  each  gentle,  careless  glance 
Strikes  like  some  spell  my  senses  through, 
To  melt,  bewilder,  and  subdue. 
And  when  I  hold  my  breath  to  feel 
Her  voice's  sweetness  through  me  steal, 
Not  fear  of  Heaven  itself  restrains 
The  tender  tumult  in  my  veins. 
I  strive,  from  her  enchanted  sway, 
My  fainting  heart  to  tear  away, — 
I  strive — but  cannot.     Still  I  trace 
All  the  deep  beauty  of  her  face, 
Still  drink  the  charming  smile,  although, 
Each  blissful  glance,  too  well  I  know, 
Is  fraught  with  death  and  endless  woe. 
And  yet  her  beauty,  not  alone, 
Lies  in  her  smile,  her  glance,  her  tone, 


130  ULRJC;  OK,  THE  VOICES. 

But  hath  a  sweet  light  of  its  own  ; 
Or  like  the  altar's  incense  wreathes, 
Floats  on  the  very  air  she  breathes, 
And  all  around  her  must  inhale 
Its  poison  on  the  scented  gale. 
Each  gentle  word,  each  graceful  mood, 
Each  sweet  unconscious  attitude, 
The  very  movement  of  her  dress, 
The  very  ground  her  footsteps  press, 
Emit  a  sense  of  loveliness." 

Thus  raved  the  wretch,  not  once  aware, 
Was  round  him  wove,  what  fatal  snare. 
Thus  raved — thus  writhed — and  little  knew 
Whose  deadly  shaft  had  pierced  him  through 

"  And  once,  oh  fiery  thought !  a  maid, 
By  my  blest  side,  unclaimed,  she  strayed. 
Arid  Hubert  then  did  feel  love's  pain, 
And  sought  by  me  his  suit  to  gain. 
And  I  laughed  at  him  (sure  a  spell 
Wove  round  my  eyes  some  fiend  of  Hell !) 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE    VOICES.  131 

But  pressed  his  suit,  and  pressed  it  well  ! 

Spoke  of  his  worth,  his  land  ; 
And  almost,  on  that  fatal  day, 
Sweet  Emiline,  did  give  away, 

With  my  own  hand  !" 

On.  on  he  went,  through  wood,  o'er  dale. 
Down  rugged  stee^,  by  winding  vale, 
Now  fired  with  hope — now  filled  with  shame. 
Now  murmuring  low  th'  enchanted  name, 
Now  stopped  as  he  had  wounded  been, 
And  so  he  was.     Remorse,  I  ween, 
Had  struck  him  with  her  arrow  keen. 

•  Love  !  and  the  Lady  Emiline  ! 
Oh  sooner,  on  this  brow  of  mine, 
Ask  haughty  Charles  to  place  his  crown. 
And,  from  his  high  throne  stepping  down. 
Expect  earth's  proudest  lord  to  see 
Do  homage  on  his  bended  knee. 
By  Heaven  !  sooner  this,  than  seek 
The  faintest  color  on  her  cheek  ! 


132  ULEIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Or  any  thought  not  summoned  there 

By  modest  truth  and  virtue  fair ! 

What !  Emiline  a  guilty  love ! 

"What !  Emiline  consent  to  rove 

O'er  sin's  impure  and  fiery  road. 

One  instant  from  the  path  of  Grod  ! 

Cease,  slanderer  !  cease  thy  monstrous  thought ! 

In  falsehood  steeped — with  madness  fraught. 

And  Hubert  too — my  host — my  friend — 
Oh  were  I  once  but  Hubert,  and 

Caught,  in  some  unsuspecting  hour, 
A  serpent  gliding  in  my  bow'r, 
With  jealous  doubt  and  damning  fear 
To  blast  my  eyes  by  venturing  near 

My  sweet  forbidden  fruit, 
In  tortures  should  the  reptile  die — 
No,  by  the  powers  of  earth  and  sky. 

And  Hell !  I  would  not  do't. 
With  other  wife  than  Emiline, 
Perchance  !     But  she  !     The  pure  one,  mine, 
Whose  innocence  could  never  stray 
From  virtue's  path,  one  step  away, — 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  133 

The  harmless  wretch,  I  would  not  kill ! 
Live  on  he  might,  and  gaze  his  fill, 
And  feed  his  burning  madness  still ; 
Of  hopeless  love,  learn  all  the  thrill, 

From  other  pain  exempt. 
Upon  his  base,  presumptuous  brow, 
I  would  but  dash  a  scornful  blow, 
Marking  the  wretch  in  public  so, 

For  laughter  and  contempt.1' 

He  paused,  deep  plunged  in  gloomy  shade, 
When  sudden  on  his  shoulder  laid. 
He  felt  a  human  hand  that  made, 
From  his  hot  cheek  the  life-blood  fade, 

Within  that  midnight  wood. 
And  though  unused  to  fear  his  heart, 
Yet  shame  and  guilt  had  done  their  part. 
He  started,  and  he  well  might  start — 

Hubert  before  him  stood. 

Was  it  by  chance  that,  ere  a  word, 
Ulric's  hand  slowly  to  his  sword 


134 


With  tremulous  action  stole  ? 
Was  it  by  chance — that  hope  of  flame, 
For  earth  too  black — too  low  for  shame — 
Too  fierce  for  Heaven  itself  to  tame — 
Rejected  wild,  more  wildly  came 

Back  on  his  soul  ? 

The  hope  that  Hubert  follow'd  there, 
For  deadly  quarrel  frank  and  fair, 
That  some  sharp  blows  of  clashing  steel 
Such  as  a  soldier's  hand  might  deal, 

Upon  that  silent  slope, 
And  ere  an  hour's  time  were  told — 
The  hateful  Hubert's  image  bold, 
Stretched  on  the  red  turf,  stiff  and  cold — 
No  more  his  madd'ning  steps  should  hold 

From  his  one  hope. 

Still  on  his  sword  his  haud  was  laid. 
With  ominous  calm  he  slowly  said: 
Count  Rodolphe  !  you  have  doubtless  heard, 
Of  my  poor  thought,  each  frenzied  word  !" 


135 


Have  doubtless  heard  ?     No.  surely  not. 
Nor  frenzied  word — nor  careless  thought. 

No  mean  eavesdropper,  I, 
To  watch  a  friend's  unguarded  mood, 
In  noonday  ball,  or  midnight  wood, 
Or  into  secret  care,  with  rude 

And  stealthy  step  to  pry. 
I  heard  thy  voice,  and  waited  still, 
Astonished,  upon  yonder  bill; 
Nor  would,  till  thou  wert  silent,  come, 
To  break  thy  thought — to  cheer  thy  gloom." 

You  dog  my  steps,"  said  Ulric,  and 
Still  with  his  sword-hilt  played  his  hand  ; 
Nor  e'er  did  dangerous  brawler  burn, 
For  strife  more  ready  and  more  stern. 

One  instant  more — infernal  snare  ! 

And  insult  fierce — without  repair, 

Had  stretched  the  murdered  Hubert  there. 

When  breathed  another  voice.  "  Forbear, 

The  Pow'rs  of  Hell  thy  breast  inspire. 


136  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

And  flame  thy  lips  with  damned  fire. 
What !  would'st  thou  take  the  husband's  life, 
Foul  recreant  !  in  the  unequal  strife, 
With  streaming  hands  to  seek  the  wife?" 

And  Hubert  stood,  and  silent  scanned 
His  friend's  dark  brow  and  threat'ning  hand 
But  then,  although  at  passion's  call, 
Quick,  as  when  sudden  lightnings  fall, 
He  felt  no  wrath  within  him  rise, 
But  only  mirth  and  light  surprise. 
Sure  some  good  angel  at  his  side, 
Withheld,  that  hour,  his  passion's  tide. 

«  Good  faith  !  and  merry  master  mine  ! 
I  was  sent  forth  by  Emiline, 
Who,  from  an  open  window,  where 
She  drank  the  night's  refreshing  air— 
A  passing  faintness  brought  her  there — 
Did  mark  thee  pacing  to  and  fro, 
Then  up  the  lonely  forest  go,    • 
And  deemed  thy  footstep  thither  bent 


ULRIC;    OE,  THE   VOICES.  137 

Some  sadness — or  some  accident. 
Or  that  thou  would'st,  as  happed  before. 
Get  lost  among  the  hills  once  more. 
Or  that  perchance  some  sickness  might 
Fall  on  thee,  as  too  oft  the  night 

Our  climate  sharply  cools. 
And  other  fears — now  this — now  that — 
The  tooth-ache — or  the  Lord  knows  what ! 

Women  are  always  fools ! 
So  I  came  forth  thy  steps  to  track, 
Nor  leave  thee  till  I  bring  thee  back, 
A  man,  thy  moody  madness  over — 
And  not — ha  !  ha  !  a  moonstruck  lover." 
"  What  I  ?— a  lover  !"— "  Nay,  no  more  ! 
Thy  thoughts,  sir,  are  no  hidden  lore. 
I  know  thy  secret — cheat  me  not ! 
Thou'st  had  some  quarrel  with  Marie. 
By  Venus'  doves  !     By  Cupid's  dart ! 
How  that  young  thing  hath  witched  thy  hea 
Thank  Heaven  !  not  mine  the  lover's  smart ! 

For  ever  'tis  his  lot, 
To  think,  if  droops  her  tender  eye, 


138  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Or  stirs  her  breast  the  passing  sigh, 
Or  comes  a  cloud  across  the  sky, 
Or  any  other  reason  why — 

His  mistress  loves  him  not. 
Ha  !  ha  !  What  folly  hath  come  o'er  thee  ! 
Good  friend  !  no  maid  can  so  adore  thee  : 
But  like  a  girl  she  shrinks  before  thee. 
Young,  tender,  timid,  as  a  fawn. 
Who  must  be  wooed  and  waited  on, 
With  gentle  arts  all  gently  won, 
Not  quarrelled  with — not  frowned  upon. 

That  is  no  way  to  win,  I  ween, 

A  coy  young  thing  of  seventeen. 

Come  !     Down  "upon  thy  knees.     Confess, 

'Tis  love  makes  thy  unhappiness. 

Come  !  out  with  it !    Thou  madly  lov'st— 

Ha  !  ha  !     And  hence  at  midnight  rov'st. 

And  hence,  with  haggard  cheek  dost  brood 

Ho,  ho  !  in  savage  solitude  ! 

For  little  Marie  thou  dost  pine ! 

I  know  thou  dost— though  Emiline— " 


ULR1C;    OK,  THE    VOICES.  139 

He  paused,  and  Ulric  turned  away, 

With  hollow  voice  and  low.  to  say, 
"Well!  Emiline— " 

Said  Hubert,  gay. — 
"  Tut !  that  is  neither  here  nor  there  ! 

Now,  Ulric,  by  my  troth  !     I  swear  ! 

I  hold  it  neither  kind  nor  fair, 

That  thou  sliould'st  keep  me  from  thy  heart, 

And  all  its  thoughts  so  far  apart. 

Why,  I  scarce  know  thee  !  what  !  a  girl  ! 

With  mincing  face,  and  sunny  curl, 

So  to  disturb  a  soldier's  breast, 

So  pale  thy  brow,  so  break  thy  rest  1 

Or  may  there  really  be,  forsooth  ! 

In  Emiline's  surmise,  some  truth  ? 

And  doth  there,  in  thy  sickness,  lie 

A  deeper  cause  than  meets  the  eye  ?" 

Now  started  Ulric,  "  By  my  soul ! 
No  deeper  cause.     Who  can  control 

His  stronger  destiny  ? 
I  yield  !  you've  named  the  reason  why 


140  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Alone  I  steal — alone  I  sigh — 
I  love — the  young  Marie  !" 

"  Ho  !  ho  !"  quoth  Hubert,  "  now  it's  out ! 
I  was  a  fool  one  hour  to  doubt 

My  judgment  and  my  sight. 
I  knew  the  matter  all  along  ; 
My  wife  is  ever  in  the  wrong, 

I,  ever,  in  the  right ! 
'Tis  true  !     We  men  are  on  our  station 
As  lords  and  masters  of  Creation. 
We  know  each  cause  and  how  it  springs, 
And  see  the  farthest  into  things  ! 
There  are,  deceived  by  poets'  lies, 
Who  prate  of  woman's  keener  eyes, 
Her  subtler  mind  and  clearer  thought — 
Her  finer  instincts,  and  what  not. 
But  I  must  say  that,  after  all, 
By  my  own  sense  I  stand  or  fall ; 
And  be  it  fair  and  frank  confest, 
I  always  find  my  judgment  best. 
Come,  sighing  swain !  no  more  to  roam 


141 


Be  mine  to  guide  thee  safely  home, 

Like  careful  sire. 

And.  by  St.  Hubert !     So  to  speak, 
'Tis  well  we  had  thee  not  to  seek 

With  the  town-crier." 

Thus  back  they  took,  o'er  vale  and  hill, 
Their  winding  way,  and  Ulric  still 
Speechless,  as  if  the  hand  of  death 
Had  chilled  his  heart  and  froze  his  breath. 
While  laughing  Hubert  onward  pressed 
With  many  a  light  and  merry  jest, 
And  little,  in  his  mirth,  did  think. 
Upon  the  high  and  giddy  brink 
Of  what  deep  precipice  he  stood, 
That  night  within  the  lonely  wood. 


142  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 


CANTO     XVI. 

AT  length  they  saw  before  them  rise 
The  castle  tow'rs  against  the  skies. 
Ulric  but  half  suppressed  the  sighs 

That  heaved  his  aching  heart. 
While  lights  the  aged  porter  brought, 
Gay  Hubert  still  his  guest  besought, 
To  give  to  love  no  further  thought, 

But  scorn  the  urchin's  dart. 

"  Good  night  old  fellow  !  corae  !  take  cheer  ! 
We'll  find  a  way  that  brow  to  clear, 
Most  excellent !  upon  my  life  ! 
I'll  triumph  o'er  my  knowing  wife. 
At  last  she'll  own  me  in  the  right. 
Good  night  !  poor  wounded  stag  !    Good  night 


ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  143 

And  to  his  chamber  Ulric  stole, 
To  commune  with  his  guilty  soul, 

Triumphant  yet  abasb'd. 
Such  troubled  joy  as  well  may  greet, 
Into  Hell's  caves,  the  wanderer's  feet, 

Across  his  anguish  flash'd. 
"  She  loves  me  !     Vanish  doubt  and  fear  ! 
She  loves  me  !     Noonday  not  more  clear  ! 
Or  wherefore  thus  her  husband  send, 
Through  midnight  wilds,  my  steps  to  tend  ? 
Or  wherefore  from  the  revel  fly  ? 
Aye,  wherefore,  but  because  that  I 
Was  absent  from  the  company, 
She  drank  the  night's  refreshing  air? 
Why  should  a  faintness  call  her  there  ? 
Or  wherefore,  with  the  blush  divine, 
Her  sweet  arm  stealing  into  mine, 

To  that  lone  bower  rove, 
Where  summer's  soft  breath  through  the  woo 
And  nature's  mystic  solitude 

Attune  the  soul  to  love  ? 
Marry  !  she  bids  me  marrv  !  why  ? 


144  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

A  woman's  sweet  revenge,  that  I 
Have  come  so  slow  her  wish  to  meet. 
And  worship  at  her  angel  feet. 

To  mark  my  bosom  swell, 
To  watch  my  saddened  brow,  each  day, 
The  secret  of  my  soul  betray, 

Which  my  tongue  dare  not  tell. 
Dare  not,  and  need  not.     Wherefore  tell, 
What  she  already  knows  too  well  ? 

And,  need  I  not  unfold, 
To  her.  the  thought  that  breaks  my  rest, 
So  need  I  neither  ask  her  breast 

What  she  hath  also  told. 
For  was  it  ever  seen  or  heard 
That  love  must  wait  for  tedious  word ; 

To  make  his  coming  known  ! 
Oh,  music,  fiow'rs — the  very  air — 
The  smallest  trifle  sparkles  there, 
Only  his  presence  to  declare, 
And,  what  the  lips  would  never  dare- 
Full  many  a  sweet  and  secret  way 
He  findeth,  well  enough,  to  say, 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  145 

In  language  of  his  own. 
Loves  she  not  me  ?     Oh  gentle  flow'r  ! 
Dear  messenger  of  that  blessed  hour ! 
Thou  art  her  language.     In  thee  lies 
The  meaning  of  her  downcast  eyes. 
In  thee  her  breath — her  soul  are  wove, 
"  TJie  more  I  see — the  more  Hove." 
Hubert !  .ha  !  ha  !  why  should  I  care 
For  Hubert !  He  would  never  spare 
Another  in  a  like  affair. 

Witness  his  follies  past ! 
True  he's  my  friend ;   but,  tempted  so, 
Friendship  itself  awreck  must  go. 
Old  ocean  hath  his  whirlwinds,  where 
The  tallest  ship  careering  there — 
The  mightiest  wind  and  wave  to  dare — 

Must  meet  her  fate  at  last. 

"  Oh  could  I  speak  with  her  this  night ! 
"  Fool!"  said  a  half-heard  whisper,  "write  !" 

He  started,  for  before  him  lay, 

-     7 


146  ULRIC  ;   OK,  THE  VOICES. 

And  since  at  Rudolstadt  his  stay. 
Till  now  unseen — a  virgin  sheet, 
As  if  to  woo  his  wandering  feet 
On,  onward  to  the  nearer  brink, 
Nor  wanted  pen,  nor  wanted  ink, 

All  common  things  conspire. 
Nor  wanted  rapturous  thoughts  that  pressed, 
Nor  feelings  pent  within  his  breast, 

Like  jEtna's  burning  fire. 

He  seized  the  pen  with  trembling  hand, 
Triumphant  in  the  magic  wand : 
Beholds  her  soothing  smile  arise, 
And  basks  him  in  her  sunny  eyes, 
Again  through  forests  seems  to  rove. 
And  unforbidden  pours  his  love, 
While,  deeply  flowing,  swells  the  tide — 
As  if  she  listened  at  his  side. 

"  I  cannot  conceal  it, 
I  cannot  control, 
It  is  love.     It  hath  entered — 
Hath  mastered  my  soul. 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  147 

I  have  wept — I  have  struggled, 

All  vainly — too  strong 
Is  the  current  of  rapture 

That  sweeps  me  along. 

I  do  not  demand, 

Though  my  secret  be  told. 
Thy  form  to  my  bosom, 

One  instant  to  fold. 

But  only  with  pity 

Thy  soft  breast  to  swell — 
But  only  to  meet  me, 

And  bid  me  farewell. 

I  do  not  deceive  me, 

I  do  not  aspire 
In  thy  bosom  to  kindle 

One  tender  desire ! 

One  thought  o'er  thy  shadowless 
Forehead  to  throw, 


148  ULEIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

That  the  angel  of  innocence 
Ought  not  to  know. 

But  I  ask  for  compassion  ; 

I  ask  thee  to  bend, 
On  the  pangs  of  a  lover 

The  look  of  a  friend. 

Of  a  heart  that  is  breaking, 

The  saviour  to  be, 
A  heart  that  is — Emiline — 

Breaking  for  thee. 

I  ask  thee  to  pity 

To  soothe — to  advise — 

And  from  madness  to  save 

With  one  glance  of  thine  eyes. 

Thou  must  meet  me,  my  cousin  ! 

Once  more  we  must  stray 
Through  those  forests,  and  steal 

From  the  others  away. 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  149 

Once  more — oh  but  once — 

We  together  must  rove, 
"Where  we  yesterday  stood, 

In  that  beautiful  grove, 

Our  parting  on  earth 

Must  be,  Einiline,  there, 
Thou  art  strong — thou  art  pure — 

Nothing  fear,  and  I  swear 
Thou  shalt  be  as  my  angel, 

Thy  lips  shall  declare, 

What  thou  wilt ;  and  their  bidding 

Thy  slave  shall  obey, 
From  thy  presence  though  banished 

Forever  away. 

But,  ere  I  part  from  thee, 

Through  life  to  remain 
An  exile,  and  never 

To  see  thee  again, 


150  ULRIC;    OE,  THE    VOICES. 

Thou  must  grant  me,  my  cousin, 
That  happiness  sweet, 

Once  more  to  gaze  on  thee, 
To  kneel  at  thy  feet. 

So — ere  to  the  desert 

His  journey  he  takes, 
The  camel  his  thirst 

At  the  cool  fountain  slakes. 

Oh  refuse  not  the  draught ! 

For  too  surely  he  knows, 
O'er  the  way  of  the  wand'rer, 

No  more  water  flows  !" 

And  thus  the  sheet  with  passion  glowed, 
And  thus  the  burning  torrent  flowed, 
When,  at  his  ear,  a  sudden  word 
Touched  in  his  heart  far  different  chord. 

"Go  !  to  the  home  of  friendship,  go  ! 
And  o'er  its  paths  thy  shadow  throw  ! 


ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  151 

A  sinless  peace  thou  there  wilt  find, 
But  leave  a  broken  heart  behind, 
A  broken  heart  no  love  can  bind, 
With  Hell's  eternal  snakes  entwined. 
G-o  !  leave  remorse,  from  passion  bred, 
And  blistering  tears  must  not  be  shed. 

Yet  cannot  be  suppressed ; 
The  smothered  sigh — the  sunken  head — 
The  broken  dream — the  stealthy  tread — 
And  all  the  agony  and  dread 

That  haunt  the  guilty  breast. 
Go  !  and  thy  banquet  foul  prepare  ! 
Gro  !  God's  o'erseeing  anger  dare  ! 
Fool !  for  thy  master,  watching  there." 

"  Away  with  such  thoughts  ! 
But  a  coward  would  fail 
At  the  whispers  of  fancy, 
A  nursery  tale  !  " 

"  Dangers  there  are,  and  dark  of  hue. 
The  wise  may  face — the  bold  subdue. 


152  ULEIC  ;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

But  only  guilt,  not  courage,  meets, 
Untrembling,  love's  forbidden  sweets. 
And  from  the  spell  of  woman's  eye, 
The  bravest  is  the  first  to  fly." 

"  Away  !  be  it  madness, 
Or  guilt,  or  despair  ! 
For  my  Emiline's  sake, 
Guilt  itself  I  will  bear." 


u  Ulric  be  warned !  thy  angel  leaves  thee  ! 
The  dark  one  conquers  and  deceives  thee ! 
He  lures  thee  on,  with  mock'ry  sweet ; 
While  seeming  Heaven  thy  senses  greet, 
All  Hell  is  yawning  at  thy  feet ! 
One  step — one  thought — oh,  unbeliever! 
Thou  plungest  down  its  depths  forever. 
Up  !  up  !  awake  !  thy  foe  defy  ! 
Awake  !  arise  !  fly!  lost  one  !  fly  !  " 

"  I  cannot  fly — it  is  in  vain, 
My  blood  is  fired,  and  reels  my  brain, 


ULEIC  ;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  153 

I  ne'er  shall  fly  that  foe  again, 
His  toils  are  of  myself  a  part ! 
Oh  God  !     They  are  my  very  heart ! 
To  'scape  Hell's  gates  let  others  try, 
For  me — 'tis  vain — I  cannot  fly  !  " 

"  Upon  the  Lord  thy  burden  cast ; 
He  will  support  thee  to  the  last ! 
His  law,  in  all  thy  thoughts,  obey  ! 
Oh  !  Call  upon  him  in  thy  day 
Of  trouble.     He  will  lead  thy  way." 

"  Sweet  Powers  of  mercy  !     Could  I  find, 
Or  in  her  beauty  or  her  mind, 
One  spot— one  blemish — nay,  but  one — 
Reason  might  rest  and  dwell  upon — 
I  would  resist — I  might  suppress 
This  feeling  of  her  loveliness ; 
But  now  its  sweet  waves  o'er  me  roll, 
And  close  my  ears — and  whelm  my  soul." 

"  And  ivliat  thou  asttst — sincere  from  Hear 
And  in  my  name — it  shall  be  given. 


154:  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

It  shall  be  given,  although  it  be 
Mountains  to  cast  into  the  sea" 


Now  paused  the  soldier,  strong  and  bold, 
The  sweat-drops  down  his  forehead  rolled. 
Then  from  his  hand  the  sheet  he  thrust — 
And  slowly  bent,  into  the  dust, 
His  pale  repentant  brow  ! 
"  Save  me !  for  other  there  is  none. 
By  ivJiom  the  battle  can  be  won, 
Oh  God !  but  only  thou ! " 


"  Yet  not  enough  the  fervent  prayer, 
To  foil  the  Dark  One  of  the  air. 
Into  captivity  be  brought 
Each  wand'ring  wish — each  guilty  thought. 
Standfast !  spent  almost  is  the  night. 
Faint  not !  but  walk  a  child  of  light. ." 

He  rose — in  deepest  anguish  lost, 

But  would  not  disobey. 
Though  sharp  the  pang  that  effort  cost, 
Though  still  on  love's  strong  billows  tost, 


ULKIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  151 

He  cast  the  pen  away, 
Nor  paused  the  fervid  sheet  to  tear, 
And  threw  it  to  the  idle  air. 

When  lo  !  as  Heaven  and  Hell  between 

He  darkly  struggled  yet, 
There  fell  the  clearest  light  serene, 
By  mortal  vision  ever  seen. 


moonbeams  gild  the  fairy  green, 

Or  gleams  the  gold  sunset ; 
And  rustled  near  a  silken  wing, 

And  then  a  holy  voice, 
As  of  an  angel  whispering, 

TT<>  hoard  :  i:  Rejoice  !  rejoice  ! 
Thy  baffled  foe — abashed — afraid — 
Yielding,  hath,  for  a  season,  fled  ;      ^ 

And  G-od,  who  reigns  on  high, 
Over  thy  heart  a  blessing  throws — 
Counts  all  thy  fainting  steps  and  knows 

Thy  hard-won  victory. 
Henceforth,  oh  warrior  !  the  reward 
Of  thy  strong  faith,  a  nearer  guard 


156  ULRIC ;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

Of  angels  bright  shall  be. 
And,  of  the  spiritual  world, 
The  inner  secrets,  half  unfurled, 

Thy  holier  eyes  shall  see. 
Be  of  good  cheer  !  these  pangs  but  prove 
Thy  breast  in  mercy  and  in  love ; 
And  teach  how  certain  and  how  sweet 
By  Faith,  to  tread,  beneath  thy  feet, 
Earth  and  its  snares  !     Be  strong  nor  fear  ! 
Eight  the  good  fight ;  for  I  am  near ;  • 
And  as  the  sun,  at  daybreak  bright, 

O'er  highest  peaks  doth  throw, 
First,  his  ethereal  glowing  light, 
While  sleeps  the  world  beneath  in  night, — 

So,  on  thy  forehead  now, 
These  heavenly  streams  of  glory  shine  ; 
For,  ever  struggling  against  sin, 

Thy  resolute  heart  hath  striven, 
And  now,  upborne  in  holier  birth, 
Although  thy  feet  are  on  the  earth, 

Thy  soul  is  half  in  heaven. 
But  oh  beware 


ULEIC;    OE,  THE  VOICES.  157 

Too  much  to  dare  ! 
Nor  deem  the  battle  won  ! 

Hell's  deep  control 

Yet  sways  thy  soul, 
Released  by  death  alone  !" 


158  ULKIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 


CANTO    XVII. 

ANOTHER  and  another  day 

Rolled  soft  and  swift  their  hours  away. 

Said  Hubert :  "  Emiline  ! 
Tell  me,  in  what  sequestered  grove, 
From  laughing  eyes  concealed,  doth  rove 

This  wounded  deer  of  thine  ?" 

Said  she  :  "  I  now  in  truth  do  read 

Change,  as  thou  say'st,  complete  indeed ! 

Our  sight  he  shuns.     I  strive  in  vain 

To  win  him  to  our  walks  again. 

He  rides  all  day  in  thoughtful  mood, 

Alone  in  forest  solitude. 

By  chance  we  met  him  yesterday  ; 

The  rein  on  Sultan's  shoulder  lay ; 

He  saw  us — turned  and  dashed  away." 


ULKIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  159 

Another  morning  came,  and  all 
Assembled  in  the  breakfast  hall, 

And  Ulric  with  the  rest. 
No  more  he  kneeled  at  Satan's  shrine, 
Nor  sought  the  glance  of  Emiline ; 
But  calmed  at  last,  by  aid  divine, 

The  earthquke  of  his  breast. 
Their  parting  such — and  such  their  meeting. 
After  one  light  and  courteous  greeting, 

That  careless  seemed  and  gay. 
He  strove  to  keep — oh  heavy  task  ! 
His  gaze  from  hers — no  more  to  bask 
And  revel  in  those  soothing  eyes. 
Of righteousness  the  sacrifice ! 

He  ever  turned  away. 
The  tide  of  merriment  flowed  brightly, 
He  heard  her  jesting,  laughing  lightly, 

With  sweet,  unstudied  grace  ; 
When,  sudden,  some  unconscious  word, 
Within  his  breast  new  madness  stirred, 
He  raised  his  eyes,  and  hers,  oh  heart ! 
Drawn  from  the  others  back,  apart, 


160  ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES. 

Full  rested  on  his  face. 
He  started  as  their  glances  met, 
And  sudden  turned  away ;  but  yet 
Not  ere  he  marked,  o'er  cheek  and  brow, 
The  transient,  soft  suffusion  flow ; 
And  trembling  as  he  looked  around, 

He  saw  the  guests  were  gone ; 
Dispersed  about  the  wooded  ground, 

The  terrace  and  the  lawn ; 
And  she  remained — oh  was  it  guile, 

That  manner  sweet? 
And  motioned  him,  with  artless  smile, 

To  a  low  seat. 
Where,  should  he  sit,  he  must,  the  while 

Sit  at  her  feet ; 
And  yet  he  went  with  a  strange  feeling, 

And  sat — unless  one  call  it  kneeling. 

| 

"  Thou  unkind  and  capricious  one  ! 

Mak'st  thou  sweet  sonnets  to  the  moon  ? 
And  shows  the  forest's  lonely  way, 
At  midnight,  fairer  than  by  day  ? 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  161 

"  They  who  in  their  own  thoughts  delight, 
Find  forests  fair  both  day  and  night." 
"  Indeed  !     And  thou  art  one  !" 

"  It  cannot,  cousin  fair,  to  thee, 
A  very  wondrous  matter  be, 
That  pleasure  and  frivolity 

Sometimes  my  footsteps  shun." 

"  But,  from  thy  wise  lips,  dost  thou  know, 
Strange  contradictions,  cousin,  flow  ! 
To-day,  'tis  yes — to-morrow,  no. 
Mark  thou  my  purpose  well ! 
Flattered  I  surely  ought  to  be, 
When,  for  I  know  it  all.  you  see, 
The  pretty  secrets,  locked  from  me. 
You  to  my  husband  tell !" 

Then  heaved  his  heart — one  instant  more, 
His  bended  knee  had  touched  the  floor, 
That  radiant  vision  to  adore  ; 
So  had  his  snared  soul  vainly  striven, 


162  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

When  entering  from  the  balmy  heav'n, 

A  sudden  breeze  swept  by. 
It  seemed  as  if  an  angel  there, 
From  his  hot  brow  put  back  the  hair, 
And  said  :  "  Remember  and  beware  ! 
Fly,  Ulric,  fly!" 

Rising,  he  said :  "  It  may  be  strange, 
I  did  not  think  my  mind  would  change  ; 

But  now,  upon  my  life  ! 
The  pretty  Marie  seems  to  me 
Fashioned  by  Love  himself  to  be 

A  model  of  a  wife. 

What  with  her  beauty  and  her  land, 
'Twere  not  amiss  to  seek  her  hand. 

Thou  hast  forgotten,  in  the  grove 
The  young  Marie,  I  do  not  love  ! 

Such  things,  about,  one  does  not  go, 
Telling  to  all  the  world,  you  know  !" 

His  words,  and  colder  gesture  too, 


ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  163 

Struck  with  a  strange  surprise  ; 
Over  her  brow  a  shadow  threw. 
And,  or  his  thoughts  deceived  him,  drew 

A  moisture  to  her  eyes. 
To  meet  their  look  he  did  not  stay — 
Lead  him,  oh  unseen  hand,  away — 
Nor  turned  he  back,  unlike  Lot's  wife — 
For  terror  of  the  unequal  strife. 
And  as  he  wandered  thoughtful  on, 
Old  Hubert  met  him  on  the  lawn. 

"  Hubert,  come  hither  !     I've  a  grace 
To  beg — but  smooth  thy  laughing  face ! 

Didst  thou  not  lately  hint 
That,  an  I  would,  the  young  Marie 
Would  prove  no  cruel  maid  to  me  ?" 

"  Aye  !  or  the  devil's  in't !" 

"  I  am  a  soldier,  sir,  you  know, 
Too  rude  in  courtly  terms  to  woo. 

If  you  will  undertake 
To  her  my  poor  request  to  bear, 


164 


And  she  my  claim  with  favor  hear, 
To  know,  I  wait  her  fair  commands, 
How  soon  the  church's  holy  bands 

A  man  and  wife  shall  make. 
And  tell  her  I  shall  never  find 
A  woman  nearer  to  my  mind." 

"  Now,  by  my  troth  !"  good  Hubert  said, 
Thy  life  with  such  a  beauteous  maid, 

"Will  be  one  scene  of  bliss. 
Nor  flies  the  arrow  from  its  bow, 
Swifter  than  I,  thy  wish  to  do. 
I  told  my  wife — I  always  knew 

The  thing  would  come  to  this  ! 
And  hear  an  ancient  comrade  swear. 
Though  sweet  the  bachelor's  courses  are, 

At  last,  their  pleasures  pall ; 
And  there  is,  really,  in  the  ease, 
The  calm,  the  safety,  and  the  peace, 
Over  the  tranquil  pathway  shed, 
Of  married  people,  happ'ly  wed, 

Something  that's  worth  them  all. 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES.  165 

A  thousand  times  I  wish  thee  joy  ! 
I'll  straightway  to  the  damsel  coy." 

"  And,  look  ye,  Hubert,  there, 
Where  o'er  the  lawn  that  old  oak  grove 
Flings  its  black  shade  alone,  I'll  rove, 

Till  thou  her  answer  bear." 

A  heavy  hour  passed  on  and  then, 
Hubert — with  slower  step,  again, 

And  laughing,  said : 
"  In  faith,  Dear  Ulric,  I  have  tried 
To  talk  the  matter  with  thy  bride, 
But  I  had  rather,  any  day, 
Meet  mounted  knight,  in  deadly  fray, 
Than  have  one  serious  word  to  say 

To  a  young  maid  ! 
And  so.  as  I  remember,  thou, 
My  courting  partly  hast  to  do, 
With  her ;  I've  ordered  Emiline 
To  try  the  young  Marie  with  thine. 
She  comes — oh  ho  !  like  death  thou'rt  pah 


166  ULHIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Pity  them  couldst  not  drop  a  veil, 
And  hide  from  all  unfeeling  eyes 
Thy  changeful  cheek — thy  anxious  sighs  !  " 

With  graceful  gesture,  grave  and  sweet, 
He  saw  her  come  his  glance  to  meet, 
And  marked  her  deepening  cheek  the  while, 
Her  downcast  eyes — her  serious  smile, 
And  in  her  softening  presence  caught 
Hope — joy — despair — he  knew  not  what. 

"  Ulric,"  she  said,  "  the  deed  is  done — 
Marie  is  wooed  and  nearly  won. 

Thy  love  I  have  confessed, 
And  I  have  been  surprised  to  find 
A  heart,  a  feeling,  and  a  mind 

I  knew  not  she  possessed. 
We  had  some  blushes  and  some  tears  ; 
She  pleaded  first  her  tender  years  : 
Yet,  hiding  on  my  breast  her  brow, 
Owned  more  than  I  must  tell  thee  now. 

I  thought  all  settled — but, 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  167 

Amid  her  happiness,  I  find, 
Lurks,  firmly,  in  her  girlish  mind, 
A  fancy,  which,  with  all  my  art, 
I  could  not  banish — that  thy  heart 

Is  fairly  conquered  not. 
And  so  she  says  thy  faithful  love, 
By  a  year's  trial  thou  must  prove. 

Said  Ulric,  with  a  secret  joy, 
"  Since  the  fair  maiden  is  so  coy, 
To-morrow  at  the  earliest  dawn, 
From  her  too  witching  charms  withdrawn, 
To  Berlin  back  again  I  ride, 
And  wait  at  home  my  doubting  bride." 

Said  Emiline  :  "  To-morrow  !  back  !" 
While  moody  Hubert's  brow  grew  black  ! 

"  Go,  when  you  like,  you  may, 
Since  all  the  pains  that  we  could  take 
Have  failed  our  poor  Chateau  to  make 

More  worthy  of  your  stay." 


168  ULllIC;    OR,  THE  VOICES. 

"  I  thought  the  country  thou  didst  love," 
Said  Emiline,  "  and  that  to  rove, 
Through  its  soft  wonders,  did  impart 
Such  rapture  to  thy  grateful  heart." 

"  Why  so  I  do,"  he  cold  replied, 
And  drew  him  sternly  from  her  side  ; 

"  I  love  it  for  a  time — but  then, 
One  pines  for  livelier  scenes  again. 
At  last  I  find  the  country  dull, 
'Tis  of  monotony  too  full, 
The  hours  so  empty  and  so  long, 
The  same  eternal  ceaseless  song, 
Of  hill  and  dale  and  wood  and  plain, 
Then  dale  and  wood  and  hill  again ; 
I  weary  for  the  city's  crowd, 
The  dazzling  throng — the  clamor  loud." 

Now  whispered  Hubert  with  a  frown  : 
"  What  a  strange  fellow  hath  he  grown  ! 
The  devil  I  think  his  humor  sways. 
By  Lucifer  !  such  haughty  ways 


ULKIC;    OK,  THE  VOICES,  169 

I  am  unused  to  meet. 
He  snaps  and  snarls  on  all  around, 
As  if  too  mean,  our  humble  ground, 

For  his  disdainful  feet. 
Come,  Emiline  !  I  hie  nie  home, 
Dost  hear  me,  wife  ?     I  bid  thee  come  ! 

One  look  on  Ulric's  face  she  bent, 
Then  without  answer,  slowly  went. 

"  And  so,"  he  thought,  "  the  die  is  cast, 
'Tis  over.     She  hath  gone  at  last. 

Meet  we  again  ?     No,  never  ! 
To-morrow,  with  dawn's  earliest  gleam, 
Ere  she  awake  from  her  pure  dream, 
Which,  heav'n  be  praised  !  will  not  be  broke 
By  any  word  my  lips  have  spoke, 
I  fly  from  love's  unworthy  sway, 
With  resolute  steps — away — away — 

For  ever  and  for  ever." 

His  gloomy  thought — his  deep  drawn  sigh 
8 


170  ULRIC  ;    OK,  THE   VOICES. 

Were  sudden  interrupted  by 

A  small  and  gentle  hand — Oil  bliss  ! 

Oh  love  ! — slow  stealing  into  his. 

He  thrilled  with  deep  surprise, 
And  turned,  afraid  his  breath  to  take 
Lest  from  so  wild  a  dream  he  wake ; 
'Twas  Emiline — she  had  come  back, 

And  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

"  Ulric  !  dear  Ulric  !  can  it  be  ! 
How  have  I  so  offended  thee  ? 
Why  art  thou  angry  ?     End  like  this 
Our  friendship  and  our  happiness  ? 
What  is  the  matter  ?"     He  withdrew 
His  hand — hers  coldly  from  him  threw, 
And  gazed  on  her  unconscious  charms, 
With  haughty  brow  and  folded  arms. 

"  Oh  how  thou'rt  altered  !     I  have  done, 
I  know  not  what  to  meet  thy  frown  ; 
Some  cruel  slander  thou  hast  heard  ! 
One  parting — one  forgiving  word  !" 


ULRIC;   OR,  THE   VOICES.  171 

She  held  her  hand.     Eternal  Foe  ! 
He  yields  !  thou  hast  thy  victim  now  ! 
When — underneath — far  down  below — 
As  from  Hell's  deep  infernal  sphere — 
Triumphant  laughter  stuns  his  ear. 
And  then  a  chorus — faint  and  sweet, 
Ear  from  above— his  soul  to  greet ; 
Ethereal — clear — and  distant  fell, 
As  on  the  smoky  air  might  swell, 
Upon  the  madd'ning  battle's  plain, 
Some  old  cathedral's  solemn  strain : 

"  Ulric  beware  !  oh  have  a  care  ! 
Trust  not  thy  feet  within  the  snare  ! 
Angels  watch  thee  from  the  air  !" 

Then  shouted  Hubert,  loud  and  stern  : 
"  What,  Emiline  !  what,  ho  !  return  ! 
Whither  have  roved  thy  feet  away  ? 
Art  deaf?  What,  wife  !  Come  back,  I  say  !" 

She  paused,  when,  between  them, 


172  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

Uprising,  there  came, 
From  the  earth,  a  dim  phantom 

Of  guilt  and  of  shame. 
Invisible,  glancing 

His  bright  burning  eyes, 
To  her  side  doth  he  glide, 

And  with  eagerness  pries 
Deep  into  her  heart, 

AVith  demoniac  gaze, 
Back  starts,  unbelieving, 
And  shrinks  with  amaze — 
Then  shuddered — retreating, 
From  her  bosom,  quick  beating, 
Where  his  arts  had  no  sway, 
He  fled  baffled  away. 

And  she — the  pure-hearted, 
"With  a  sad  prayer,  departed. 
While  Ulric,  attending, 
His  rapt  ear  was  bending, 
To  catch  the  soft  sound 
Of  those  voices  around, 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  173 

That  came,  louder  and  nearer, 

And  sweeter  and  clearer; 

To  the  heart  of  the  hearer. 

Over  him  stealing, 

Wisdom  revealing, 

And  loftier  feeling, 

His  courage  reviving, 

In  his  struggling  and  striving, 

For  he  heard  without  scorning 

Their  whispering — and  warning. 

From  the  sweetest  of  sweetness, 

On  earth  ever  given. 
He  had  broken,  by  faith 

In  the  promise  of  heaven  ! 


174  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 


CANTO    XVIII. 

MORNING  !  It  tints  the  eastern  sky, 

To  cloud  and  hill-top  silently 

Its  fiery  arrows  glancing  fly. 

Morning  !  in  earliest  loveliness, 

With  all  its  glory  and  its  peace. 

But  not  more  peaceful  nature  lay, 

In  the  deep  calm  of  opening  day, 

And  not  more  glorious  streamed  the  east 

With  radiant  light,  than  Ulric's  breast ; 

The  peace  of  prayer — and  from  above. 

The  light  of  mercy  and  of  love. 

Already,  at  the  castle  gate, 
Behold  the  warlike  charger  wait ; 
His  eyes  of  fire  he  rolls  around, 


175 


Impatient  neighs  and  paws  the  ground. 

So  stands,  when  rings  the  trumpet's  sound 

As  if  his  breast  instinctive  knew 

His  task  to  bear  that  lov'd  lord  through, 

Not  sabre  flash  and  cannon  roar, 

But  battle  field,  o'er  which,  before. 

No  steed  his  rider  ever  bore. 

"  Oh  Sultan,  let  thy  limbs  be  fleet !" 
He  said,  and  vaulted  to  his  seat. 
When  lo  !  he  sees  before  him  stand 
Hubert,  and  laughing  seize  his  hand  ! 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  young  firebrand  !  whither  now  ? 
I  counsel  on  thy  way  to  go 
Somewhat  more  wisely  and  more  slow." 

"  Good  friend,  farewell !"  «  Tut !  tut !  By  Jove 
Another  inch  thou  dost  not  move  !" 

"  Hubert,  I  thank  thee  !     But  adieu  ! 
Thy  friendly  feeling  well  I  knew. 


176  ULRIC ;    OK,  THE  VOICES. 

Yet  now  my  sober  plans  compel 

To  speed  away.     Farewell !  farewell !" 

Quoth  Hubert,  "  Ha  !  and  is  it  so  ? 
In  Heaven's  name  then,  Ulric,  go  ! 

A  plague  on  all  thy  schemes  ! 
But  first,  my  blessing  take  with  thee, 
And  all  the  more,  for  that,  I  see, 
In  these  last  weeks,  'twixt  thee  and  me, 

Young  man,  a  shadoiv  seems. 
I  know  not  what,  nor  greatly  care. 
Some  men,  ha  !  ha  !  like  women  are, 
And  flaunt  their  friends  with  changeful  mood, 
And  slight  their  host  for  solitude. 
And  must,  with  visage  long  and  dark, 
Be  humored  too,  Heaven  save  the  mark  ! 
But  of  one  thing,  at  least,  I'm  sure, 

Whate'er  thou  choose  to  do, 
Ulric,  thy  mind,  as  snow,  is  pure. 

Thy  heart,  as  steel,  is  true. 
So  fare  thee  well !     One  last  embrace. 
Though  somewhat  sad,  we'll  miss  thy  face. 


ULRIC  ;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  177 

Forget  us  not — where'er  thou  be, 
May  God's  best  blessing  rest  on  thee!" 

Three  kisses  warm  their  friendship  speak. 
No  Judas'  lips  pressed  Hubert's  cheek. 

Flashed  Ulric's  eyes  with  conscious  fire, 

But  did  not  droop  their  rays. 
Thank  God  !  they  had  no  need  retire 
From  friendship's  trustful  gaze. 
Not  all  the  lusts  of  wealth  and  power. 

That  hollow  worldlings  prove, 
Not  pleasure's  light  and  fading  flower, 
Not  proud  ambition's  loftiest  hour, 

Not  all  the  sweets  of  love, 
Can  pay  the  coward  meanness  felt, 
Deep  to  the  heart,  by  conscious  guilt, 
When  eyes  of  friend  or  neighbor  greet, 
With  honest  glance  it  dare  not  meet, 
Can  give  the  peace,  the  pure  delight, 
The  secret  joy  of  acting  right. 


178  ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

"  I  thank  thee  Hubert.     If  I  know 
Myself  there  is  no  shadow  now 
'Twixt  thee  and  me,  but  clear  sunshine, 
And  a  true  heart  completely  thine, 

From  every  coldness  free ; 
And  if  in  coming  years  thou  e'er 
Need  friend  life's  heavy  grief  to  share, 
Its  pangs  to  sooth — its  storms  to  dare — 
Hubert,  remember  me !" 


"  Now,  Sultan,  speed  !  forward  !" 

And  swift  on  his  way 
Sprang  the  courser,  impatient 

His  lord  to  obey. 
Like  mists  of  the  morning, 

That  pass  on  the  wind, 
The  terrace — the  castle — 

Are  melting  behind. 
By  vale  and  by  forest. 

By  meadow  and  lawn, 
Like  an  arrow  the  steed 

And  his  rider  sped  on  ; 


ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  179 

Nor  e'er  looked  behind  them, 

As  breathless  they  flew, 
Beneath  branches  all  fragrant 

And  dripping  with  dew. 
And  onward  and  onward 

They  hurry  in  flight, 
Through  air  thick  with  perfume, 

By  cliffs  bathed  in  light. 
Already — already — 

That  castle  so  dear, 
Its  walls — they  are  hidden, 

Its  towers  disappear, 
And  still,  like  an  eagle, 

The  sky  cleaving  through, 
Still  swifter  and  farther 

And  farther  they  flew — 

When  Sultan  stopped.     Oh  Tempter  !  thou 
Didst  check  him  on  that  mountain  brow, 
Where  broke  once  more  upon  his  view, 
The  morn's  aerial  softness  through, 
With  a  strange  power — that  heavenly  scene, 


180  ULRIC;   OR,  THE  VOICES. 

Where  his  blest  feet  with  hers  had  been, 
Each  skyey  mountain  gleaming  there — 
An  azure  dream — half  earth,  half  air — 
Each  rock  and  hill  that  swelled  so  sweet, 
Round  happy  Rudolph's  castle  seat ; 
Each  silvery  steep,  and  deepening  shade — 
Each  charm,  by  morning  tenderer  made, 

New  secret  joy  impart. 
Each  meadowy  vale  of  that  soft  day — 
Each  well-known  wood — each  wandering  way, 
All  bright,  again  their  fatal  sway 

Wind  round  his  yielding  heart. 
Long,  long  he  gazed,  with  spell-bound  eyes, 
With  heaving  breast  and  bursting  sighs — 

His  high  resolves  forgot. 
And  now  again,  on  love's  deep  tide, 
As  some  wrecked  vessel  doth  he  ride — 
No  hope  to  cheer,  no  voice  to  guide — 

Good  angels,  leave  him  not ! 

Once  more  he  Satan's  breath  receives. 
On  Sultan's  neck  the  rein  he  leaves, 


ULRIC;    OK,  THE   VOICES.  181 

And  vaulting  from  his  seat, 
Down  cast  him  on  the  unconscious  ground, 
And  kissed  the  mossy  rocks  around, 
The  rugged  trees  her  eyes  had  seen, 
The  silent  path  where  she  had  been  ; 
The  dewy  flowers,  the  velvet  green, 

Touched  by  her  sacred  feet. 
Then  sunk  in  shame  his  lofty  head, 
He  wept,  such  tears  as  .never  shed 

Unhappy  warrior  yet, 
But  he  who  strove,  and  strove  in  vain, 
To  free  his  soul  from  sin's  foul  stain, 

And  hell's  infernal  net. 

Then  starting  up,  a  voice  he  heard ; 

His  quivering  lips  repeat  the  word — 

"  Death  /"  and  leaped  forth  his  glittering  sword, 

"  Receive  me,  endless  night ! 
Oh  earth  !  whose  sweets  around  me  lie, 
So  calm,  so  fresh — farewell !  I  die. 
Oh  balmy  air  ;  oh  azure  sky  ! 

Farewell,  oh  radiant  light ! 


182  ULKIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

And  thou,  who  never  canst  be  mine. 

Sweet  and  beloved  Emiline  ! 

My  sword  shall  break  thy  potent  spell ; 

I  die  for  thee  ! — farewell,  farewell ! 

When,  in  thy  forest  solitude, 

The  crimson  sunset  fills  the  wood, 

If  thou  shouldst  rove,  where  once  we  roved, 

Oh  love  not  thou  as  I  have  loved ; 

But  may  thy  beauty  never  know 

What  mischiefs  from  its  sweetness  flow." 

Now,  with  stern  hand,  in  cruel  haste, 
He  turned  against  his  aching  breast, 
The  glittering  instrument  of  death. 
One  moment  more — he  yields  his  breath, 
When,  hark  !  soft  floating  on  the  gale 
Came,  silver  sweet,  across  the  vale, 
Another  voice : 

"  Ulric,  forbear ! 

Put  up  thy  sword :  it  is  a  snare  ! 
Thy  foe,  the  Evil  One,  is  there. 
He  plies  thy  soul  with  wild  desires — 


ULRIC  ;    OE,  THE   VOICES.  183 

With  madd'ning  thoughts,  with  devilish  fires  : 
Unveil  him  to  the  Christian's  eye  I 
Look,  Ulric,  look  ! — on  Heaven  rely — 
Resist  the  fiend,  and  he  will  fly  !" 

He  looked — oh  God  ! — there  stood  at  last, 
Revealed,  the  power  that  held  him  fast. 

"  Save  me,  in  Christ's  great  name!"  he  cried, 
For  he  saw  plainly  at  his  side, 

*  Half  mist,  half  shadow,  silent  cling, 
A  monstrous  and  a  loathsome  thing, 
Twine  round  him  its  abhorrent  arms, 
And,  unrcbuked,  weave  all  its  charms; 
While  its  foul  lips  their  poison  dear 
Still  poured  into  his  listening  ear. 

Quick  gleamed  the  sword — yet  not  the  blade. 
But  the  deep  prayer,  repentant  said, 
With  holy  faith  and  humble  mind, 
Forced  the  reluctant,  clasping  fiend 
To  loose,  at  last,  its  leach-like  hold, 


ULRIC;    OE,  THE   VOICES. 

And  free  the  warrior,  pure  and  bold, 
Who  sometimes  yielded,  nearly  thrown 
The  giddy  mountain  headlong  down, 
But  still  resisted. 

"Off!  no  more, 
Deceitful  horror  ! 

I  adore 
At  thy  foul  shrine 

Of  sin  and  shame. 
Dark  demon,  back  ! 

In  Christ's  great  name, 
I  break  thy  spell, 

I  rend  thy  net, 
I  tread  thee,  hell, 

Beneath  my  feet !" 

Then  fled  the  monster  with  amaze  ; 

His  spells  dispersed,  his  power  gone, 
Retreated  from  the  steady  gaze 

Of  his  strong  foe — and  plunging  down 
The  lofty  mountain's  beetling  height, 
Regained  once  more  that  vale  of  light, 


ULEIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  185 

Where,  throned  in  peace  and  beauty,  sat 
The  lordly  Schloss  of  Rudolstadt. 

Kneel,  Ulric,  kneel ! — not  now  to  kiss, 
With  burning  thirst  for  earthly  bliss, 

The  meadow  she  had  trod  : 
A  higher  rapture  filled  his  breast, 
A  calm  content,  a  holy  rest ; 
And  all  his  heart  a  voice  confessed — 

Worship  one  only  God ! 
For  round  about  their  steps  that  fear, 
An  angel  makes,  encamping  near, 
The  blind  to  see — the  deaf  to  hear, 

And  the  Lord's  secret  know. 
Hark  !  Ulric,  hark  !  thy  charger's  neigh 
Warns  in  this  scene  no  ling'ring  stay  : 

Touch  not,  taste  not — obey  !  obey  ! 

- 
Up  !  up  !  stern  duty  calls  !  away  ! 

Nor  tempt  thy  watchful  foe. 

He  leaped  to  the  saddle, 
Nor  needed  to  chide 


186  ULRIC;    OR,  THE   VOICES. 

The  courser,  which  flew, 

In  his  swiftness  and  pride, 
As  if  the  good  angels, 

Around  him  that  pressed, 
Lent  wings  to  his  fleetness, 

And  fire  to  his  breast. 
Still  onward,  still  onward, 

Outstripping  the  wind, 
He  leaves  that  dear  valley — 

He  leaves  it  behind ; 
And  her,  whom  he  names  not, 

Her  image  outcast, 
He  shakes  from  his  bosom, 

Like  dew  on  the  blast. 
Oh  space  !  with  thy  mountains, 

And  clouds,  intervene  ! 
Oh  time  !  in  sweet  mercy 

Thy  years  roll  between  ! 
On,  Sultan  !     To  heaven 

Is  lifted  his  brow : 
Speed  !  speed  ! — 'tis  from  hell's  gates 

Thou  bearest  him  now. 


187 


CANTO    XIX. 

THERE  is  triumph  in  heaven  : 

A  lost  one  is  found  ! 
He  hears  the  sweet  voices 

Float  nearer  around : 
"  A  mortal  who  listens, 

And  seeks  for  his  brow, 
Of  religion  and  virtue, 

The  sacred  halo  ; 

"  Attend  him,  befriend  him, 

Revive  and  assist ; 
Away  from  his  spirit 

The  poison  and  mist ; 
The  snares  from  his  feet, 

And  the  scales  from  his  eyes, 


188  ULETC  ;    OE,  THE   VOICES. 

And  waft,  through  his  bosom, 
A  breath  from  the  skies. 

"  Rejoice  !  we  have  saved  him, 

He  listens  our  voice, 
He  knows  us — obeys  us  ; 

For  ever  rejoice  ! 
Already  around  him 

A  blessing  we  throw, 
Earth's  happiest  worshippers 

Never  can  know. 

"  Wherever  he  roveth, 

Whatever  betide, 
We  will  answer  his  calling, 

Will  walk  by  his  side. 
If  sickness  assail  him, 

A  cup  shall  be  given, 
His  torments  to  soften, 

Of  patience  from  heaven. 

';  If  duty  conduct  him 


ULRIC  ;    OR,  THE   VOICES.  189 

To  ruin's  dark  brink, 
His  eyes  shall  not  waver, 

His  nerves  shall  not  shrink. 
If  passion  assault  him, 

His  soul  shall  be  strong ; 
He  shall  pass  mid  temptation 

Untainted  along. 

"  Let  him  fear — for  his  way 

He  hath  chosen  aright — 
Nor  the  arrow  by  day, 

Nor  the  terror  by  night. 
Though  the  earth  reel  around  him, 

His  spirit  shall  be, 
Like  a  rock  that  back  dasheth 

The  foam  of  the  sea." 


NOTES. 


Note  1. — CANTO  I. 
RITTMEISTER— a  captain  of  cavalry. 

Note  2. — CANTO  I. 

"  What  time  the  elector's  princely  hand 

With  the  new  faith  had  filled  the  land." 

JOACHIM  II,  1535—70.  This  magnificent  Prince  embraced  the 
doctrines  of  Luther.  He  was  an  enlightened  protector  of  music 
and  poetry  as  well  as  architecture  and  painting,  and  during  his 
reign  he  was  obliged  to  pass  sumptuary  laws  to  restrain  the  lux 
ury  and  extravagance  of  his  subjects.  Watchmen  for  the  city  in 
the  night,  were  first  introduced  by  his  successor. 


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